AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
THREE  BIRCHES 


SHE   LOOKED   OUT   UPON   THE   LONELY   ROAD. — Page   50. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
THREE    BIRCHES 


BY 


AMY   BROOKS 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY  AUTHOR 


BOSTON 
LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  CO. 


Published,  August,  1916 


Copyright,  1916, 
BY  LOTHROP,  LEE  &  SHEPARD  Co. 


All  Rights  Reserved. 


AT  THE  SIGN   OF   THE  THREE  BIRCHES 


"HorwooD  Perss 

BERWICK  &  SMITH  CO. 

NORWOOD,    MASS. 
U.    8.    A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    THE  ARRIVAL 7 

II    FOR  A  YEAR  AND  A  DAY 17 

III  THE   FIRST  NIGHT 23 

IV  A  NEWSMONGER 32 

V    MAKING  NEW  FRIENDS 45 

VI    A  CALLER  AT  "  THE  BIRCHES  " 57 

VII    FROM  A  MAN'S  VIEW-POINT 63 

VIII    WAVERING 70 

IX    CONFIDENCES 79 

X    IN  THE  MIDST  OF  A  TEMPEST 87 

XI    PLEADING 96 

XII    ALONE  WITH  His  THOUGHTS 101 

XIII  THE  DEPARTURE 105 

XIV  HAUNTED 113 

XV    OPINION  GRATIS 121 

XVI    FOR  JACK'S  SAKE 124 

XVII    A  PROPHET  AT  THE  DOOR 130 

XVIII    A  REBUFF 136 

XIX     BUSYBODIES 142 

XX    FOOD  FOR  GOSSIP 151 

XXI      A    VOICE    FROM    THE    TREETOPS 160 

XXII    AN  ALARMING  PREDICTION- 167 

XXIII  AN  UNWELCOME  CALLER 173 

XXIV  A  LONG  ROAD 180 

XXV  IRMA  ARRIVES                                                           188 


2134256 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI    THE  LITTLE  RED  BOOK 195 

XXVII    POISONED  DARTS 199 

XXVIII    MISCHIEF  BREWING 207 

XXIX    THE  CLOSED  DOOR 214 

XXX    THE  SECOND  MRS.  DELWIN 223 

XXXI    A  LINK  IN  THE  CHAIN 229 

XXXII    A  RUNAWAY 234 

XXXIII  "AULD  LANG  SYNE" 243 

XXXIV  OVER  THE  WALL 252 

XXXV    HEARD  ON  THE  LINKS 263 

XXXVI    ESCAPE  FROM   SCRUTINY 275 

XXXVII    AT  BLOSSOMVILLE 283 

XXXVIII    VOICES 301 

XXXIX    FOUR  MONTHS'  ABSENCE 310 

XL    ON  THE  BRIDGE 314 

XLI    WHEN  HEAVEN  SEEMED  NEAR 331 

XLII    SMOLDERING 338 

XLIII    LIKE  AN  ACCUSING  EYE 349 

XLIV    SUMMONED 360 

XLV    RETRIBUTION 369 

XLVI    WHEN  LONGING  TRIUMPHED 377 

XLVII    SURRENDER 384 

XL VIII    WHEN  DREAMS  CAME  TRUE 393 

XLIX    REVEALED 403 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF 
THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   ARRIVAL 

SUNSHINE  dancing  on  the  long,  dusty  road, 
a  fresh  breeze  swaying  the  blackberry  vines 
that  clambered  over  the  low  stone  wall,  and 
the  chirping  of  the  sparrows  gave  a  cheery  greet- 
ing to  the  old  stage-coach  as  it  lumbered  clumsily 
over  the  road  on  its  way  to  the  village.     Clouds 
of  dust  seemed  trying  to  render  it  invisible,  but 
its  crackled  yellow  paint  glimmered  bravely,   as 
if  determined  to  be  noticed,  and  the  coach  rocked 
and  swayed  as  if  it  were  frail,  but  hilarious. 

The  horses  were  gaunt,  and  evidently  ill  fed; 
but,  as  if  to  keep  pace  with  the  gayly  swaying 
coach,  they  ambled  down  the  steep  roadway,  the 
descent  giving  them  the  appearance  of  making 
greater  speed  than  would  otherwise  have  been 
possible. 

7 


8  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

On  the  top  of  the  coach  were  several  passengers. 
Inside  there  were  but  two :  an  old  woman,  wiry 
and  angular,  and  a  young  woman,  fair  to  look 
upon.  Hair  that  was  warm  and  sunny,  eyes  that 
were  dark,  and  thoughtful,  and  an  oval  face  that 
bespoke  refinement  and  strength  of  character  — 
these  were  what  appealed  to  one  first  upon  meet- 
ing her.  She  was  evidently  very  tired,  and  she 
leaned  back  wearily,  turning  her  head  so  that  she 
might  look  out  at  the  sunny  fields  and  distant  hills, 
and  at  the  same  time  discourage  any  attempt  at 
conversation. 

The  older  woman  watched  her  closely.  Her 
small,  shrewd  eyes  narrowed  as  she  scanned  every 
feature,  noted  the  weary  droop  of  the  young 
shoulders,  and  glanced  at  the  slender  hands  lying 
listlessly  in  the  lap,  and  for  a  moment  she  closed 
her  thin  lips  tightly,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
thought:  "  I  told  you  so,"  although  she  dared 
not  say  it. 

She  wished  that  the  girl  would  speak,  or  even 
emit  a  tired  sigh,  when  there  would  be  an  excuse 
for  saying  what  lay  at  her  tongue's  end,  but  the 
girl  remained  silent,  not  changing  the  pose  that 
she  had  held  for  nearly  a  half  hour.  At  last  the 
older  woman's  patience  gave  way. 

"  Sylvia !  " 


THE  ARRIVAL  9 

The  girl  turned  to  look  at  her. 

"  Will  ye  say  now  that  ye're  sick  of  the  whole 
thing?  The  whole  crazy  scheme,  I  mean?  If 
ye  don't  speak  soon,  Sylvia,  I  do  b'lieve  I  shall 
fly!" 

"  Don't,"  said  the  girl.  "  First,  it  wouldn't  be 
becoming,  and  second,  it's  impossible." 

"  I  do  say  ye  shouldn't  be  flippant.  This  trip 
isn't  a  joke  by  a  long  odds,"  was  the  tart  reply, 
"  and  how  it'll  end,  the  Lord  only  knows.  Won't 
ye  even  say  ye  wish  we  hadn't  started?  That 
ye'd  be  glad  if  ye  hadn't  ever  thought  of  com- 
ing?" 

The  girl  turned  squarely  around  on  the  seat, 
and  looked  for  a  second  into  the  bead-like  eyes  of 
the  questioner. 

"  Aunt  Zilla,  you  have  asked  those  same  ques- 
tions at  least  twenty  times  since  we  started,  and 
as  many  times  I  have  answered  them.  I  am  tired 
with  the  long  journey,  first  by  train,  and  now,  the 
last  few  miles  by  coach;  but  my  determination  to 
reach  the  old  house,  and  to  remain  there  from 
now  until  the  date  named  in  Aunt  Sylvia's  will,  is 
unchanged. 

*  You  promised  to  go  with  me,  and  be  my 
housekeeper,  and  companion,  friend,  protector, 
whatever  you  choose  to  call  yourself,  remaining 


io  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

with  me  until  the  time  is  up.  You  seemed  willing, 
almost  eager  when  we  first  talked  the  matter  over. 
I  can't  understand  why  you  are  full  of  regret  now 
that  we  ever  started." 

The  girl's  voice  had  been  angry  when  she  had 
commenced  speaking,  but  now,  sweet  and  low,  it 
held  a  note  of  grieving,  and  its  gentle  reproof 
touched  the  older  woman,  where  anger  had  failed. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  impatient,  nor  to  go  back 
on  my  promise  to  stay  with  ye,  and  stick  by  ye, 
even  tho'  I  do  think  the  whole  thing  foolhardy, 
but  Sylvia,  the  road  seems  uncommon  lonely,  and 
somehow  I  do  hope  the  old  house  won't  look 
'  pokerish  '  when  we  reach  it.  Not  that  I  expect 
a  band  of  music  to  be  playing  on  the  back  stoop, 
or  a  crowd  inside  when  we  unlock  the  door,  but  as 
there's  just  we  two,  I  do  hope  the  old  place  won't 
look  too  glum." 

"  You've  not  seen  the  place;  I  have,"  the  girl 
replied,  "  and  truly,  I  can't  tell  you  that  it  is 
really  '  gay,'  but  if  we  face  it  bravely,  it  may  be 
bearable." 

"  Bearable!  Good  gracious,  Sylvia  !  If  that's 
all  you  can  say,  I  guess  it's  worse  even  than  I 
expected,  and  land  knows  — " 

"Here  ye  be!"  shouted  the  driver,  bringing 
his  horses  to  such  a  sudden  halt  that  they  barely 


THE  ARRIVAL  11 

escaped  falling  back  on  their  haunches.  "  This 
is  the  old  Durant  house,  called  '  The  Three 
Birches,'  where  ye  said  ye  was  goin',  no  comin', 
wal  anyhow,  this  is  it,"  and  he  clambered  down 
from  his  seat  to  open  the  door  and  to  assist  them 
to  alight. 

It  was  not  his  habit  to  show  so  much  courtesy, 
but  the  girl's  appearance  had  impressed  him,  and 
his  curiosity  was  aroused.  Later,  at  the  "  store," 
he  would  tell  his  cronies  of  the  strange  fact  that 
the  old  Durant  house  was  to  have  two  tenants. 

Having  paid  him,  the  girl  and  her  companion 
turned  toward  the  house,  and  the  driver,  realiz- 
ing that  there  would  be  no  opportunity  to  question 
them,  mounted  his  seat,  and  drove  off  down  the 
road. 

The  girl  looked  after  the  receding  coach,  as  if 
dreading  to  have  it  disappear,  but  the  older 
woman  stared  in  horror  and  amazement  at  the 
house  that  was  for  a  time  to  be  their  dwelling- 
place.  Weather-beaten,  and  shabby  it  was,  with 
its  blinds  with  missing  slats,  its  sagging  fence,  its 
untrimmed  shrubbery,  and  its  weed-grown  path, 
but  most  striking  of  all  was  its  look  of  utter  desola- 
tion. 

u  For  goodness'  sake,  Sylvia !  Isn't  there  a 
door  on  that  house  where  we  can  get  in?  Or, 


12          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

rather,  get  out,  for  I  guess  we'll  be  more  anxious 
'bout  getting  out,  come  to  think  of  it." 

"  Come  this  way,"  was  the  quiet  response;  and 
the  older  woman  followed,  her  sharp  eyes  notic- 
ing the  spaces  where  pickets  had  fallen  from  the 
old  fence,  and  the  garden  flowers  had  found  their 
way  out  through  the  open  spaces,  that  they  might 
look  up  and  down  the  road. 

"  No  wonder  they  want  to,  tho'  land  knows 
there  isn't  much  to  see,"  she  muttered. 

Althea  and  locust  trees  in  full  bloom  had  hidden 
both  porch  and  door  from  view  when  they  had  left 
the  coach;  and  now,  as  they  made  their  way  along 
the  weed-grown  path,  she  saw  that  the  porch  was 
wreathed  in  roses,  and  trumpet-vines,  each  trying 
to  outdo  the  other  in  an  effort  to  cover  its  weather- 
beaten  pillars  and  its  moss-coated  roof. 

The  key  grated  in  the  rusty  lock  as  Sylvia  in- 
serted it,  and  she  was  obliged  to  grasp  the  knob, 
and  push  against  the  door  before  it  would  yield. 

A  muttered  remark  from  her  companion  was 
unnoticed  by  Sylvia,  who  entered  the  little  hall, 
with  seeming  bravery,  and  pushed  wide  the  living- 
room  door.  Small,  charred  logs  were  in  the  fire- 
place, as  if  the  owner  of  the  house  had  but  gone 
out  for  a  stroll,  leaving  them  burning.  A  book 
lay  open  upon  the  table,  and  near  it,  a  candle  that 


THE  ARRIVAL  13 

had  guttered,  and  ceased  to  burn,  as  suddenly  as 
had  the  life  spark  in  that  strange  woman  who, 
once,  from  sheer  perversity,  had  chosen  to  live 
there. 

Strong  physically,  and  if  possible,  stronger  of 
will,  she  had,  upon  the  death  of  her  husband,  left 
her  beautiful  home,  after  having  disposed  of 
many  of  his  treasures  and  taken  up  her  residence  in 
this  old  and  lonely  house.  Having  withdrawn 
from  all  social  life,  all  friendship,  and  kinship, 
she  had  spent  her  last  years  in  the  company  of  her 
garden  flowers,  when  out  of  doors  —  her  books, 
when  within. 

Now,  by  the  old  carved  table  stood  her  niece, 
and  namesake,  Sylvia  Durant,  sadly  looking  down 
at  the  open  volume  and  the  half-burned  candle, 
and  thinking  of  the  woman  who  had  died  sud- 
denly, while  reading  there. 

"  Sylvia !  Sylvia !  For  mercy's  sake,  don't 
stand  there  dreaming.  I'll  warrant  ye  wish  ye 
hadn't  come,  but  ye  won't  say  it,  so  I'll  ask  ye  a 
different  question.  Is  there  a  store  anywhere  near 
this  old  rookery?  It's  likely  we'll  have  to  eat 
while  we're  here,  and  if  there's  market  errands  to 
be  done,  I'd  'nough  rather  do  them  before  it's 
any  later  in  the  day." 

"  I  wrote  to  the  agent  of  Aunt  Sylvia's  prop- 


14          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

erty  last  week,  enclosing  an  order  for  provisions, 
to  be  delivered  here  to-day,  and  doubtless  they  will 
arrive  before  long.  Some  one  is  coming  along 
the  path  now,  toward  the  side  door." 

"  Side  door?  I  didn't  see  any  door  when  we 
landed  here;  I  never  dreamed  this  old  trap 
boasted  two,"  the  woman  said,  as  she  hastened 
through  the  house  to  learn  who  might  be  al- 
ready boldly  knocking.  A  freckled-faced  lad 
stared  up  at  her  in  astonishment  as  she  opened 
the  door. 

"Wai,  I  swan!  "  he  cried,  forgetting  to  close 
his  mouth  after  the  ejaculation. 

"  Is  that  the  way  ye  speak  to  a  woman  the  first 
time  ye  meet  her?  "  Aunt  Zilla  inquired  sharply. 

"  Wai,  no,"  said  the  lad,  "  but  I  told  the  boss 
'twa'n't  no  use  to  lug  a  mess  er  groceries  to  a  empty 
house,  an'  he  said:  'Tain't  empty.  Go  long 
over,'  but  I  didn't  b'lieve  him.  When  d'je 
come?  " 

"  Put  the  parcels  on  the  kitchen  table,"  the 
woman  replied,  ignoring  his  question. 

She  knew  that  every  person  who  came  to  the 
house,  or  who  chanced  to  meet  her  on  the  road 
to  the  village,  would  be  filled  with  prying  curiosity, 
and  determined  to  question  her;  and  she  was 


THE  ARRIVAL  15 

equally  determined  grimly  to  ignore  their  interro- 
gations. 

The  lad  dumped  the  bundles  upon  the  table  re- 
gardless of  the  fact  that  one  contained  eggs;  and 
he  hurried  toward  the  door,  glancing  warily  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  went  out. 

"  Wonder  if  he  thought  I'd  bite?  "  Aunt  Zilla 
said  grimly,  as  she  locked  the  door. 

Realizing  that  she  had  not  heard  a  sound  in 
the  house  since  she  had  passed  through  the  rooms 
to  open  the  side  door  for  the  grocer's  boy,  she 
went  softly  back  to  the  door  that  opened  into  the 
living-room. 

"Sylvia,  what  ails  ye?"  she  cried.  "Ye 
haven't  moved  since  I  left  the  room.  Ye're  star- 
ing at  that  guttered  candle,  jest  as  ye  did  when  we 
fust  come  in.  Sylvia,  ye  do  act  queer.  Are  ye 
bewitched?  Has  this  old  rattle-trap  of  a  house, 
with  its  ugly  furnishings,  begun  to  affect  ye  al- 
ready? If  it  has,  ye've  a  job  of  it  ter  hold  out 
fer  a  year  and  a  day !  Sylvia !  Fer  goodness 
sake,  speak!  " 

Slowly  the  girl's  eyes  turned  to  look  at  the  ex- 
asperated woman. 

"  Good  gracious,  Sylvia !  Ye  look  as  if  ye'd 
seen  a  ghost!  " 


16          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  I  haven't,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  "  but  truly  the 
open  book,  the  half-burned  candle,  —  Oh,  it 
makes  me  feel  as  if  she  had  but  just  left  this  room, 
and  at  any  moment  might  return." 

"  'Tain't  possible  ye  think,  — "  the  older 
woman  faltered. 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  Sylvia  said  quickly,  "  I'm  not 
superstitious,  only  those  things  have  been  left 
here,  just  as  she  left  them,  and  even  the  charred 
logs  in  the  fireplace  strengthen  the  impression  of 
recent  occupancy." 

It  was  evident  that  the  situation  demanded  im- 
mediate action,  and  when  Sylvia,  as  if  the  spell 
were  broken,  left  the  table  with  its  open  book,  and 
went  out  into  the  little  front  garden  to  admire 
the  riot  of  bloom,  Aunt  Zilla  snatched  both  book 
and  candle,  and  bore  them  away  to  the  kitchen. 

She  made  a  second  trip  to  the  living-room,  plac- 
ing fresh  logs  on  the  andirons,  and  taking  the 
half-burned  ones  out  to  the  range.  She  thrust 
some  paper  into  the  grate,  piled  small  fagots 
upon  the  paper,  added  the  charred  logs,  and,  when 
all  were  blazing,  threw  in  the  old  candle  and  the 
book,  taking  care  to  tear  the  pages  from  the  bind- 
ing, lest  they  might  smolder,  instead  of  being  at 
once  destroyed. 

"  That's  one  good  job  done,"  she  said  grimly. 


CHAPTER  II 

FOR   A    YEAR   AND   A   DAY 

GOING   over   to   the   window,   Aunt  Zilla 
stood   looking   out,    a   tall,    spare   figure, 
whose    gray    gown,    and    thin    pale    face 
seemed  tinted  with  the  same  monotonous  coloring 
that  rendered  wall  and  woodwork  so  drearily  un- 
interesting. 

Not  that  her  face  always  lacked  animation. 
There  were  times  when  her  small  black  eyes 
flashed  fire,  but  just  now  she  saw  only  the  garden 
filled  impartially  with  flowers  and  weeds,  the 
broken  pickets  in  the  fence  that  marked  its  bound- 
ary, the  dusty  road,  and  on  its  farther  side,  the 
tall  dark  forest,  looming  far  above  the  old  house, 
as  if  glowering  over  it,  or  protecting  it,  who  could 
say  which? 

"  A  year  and  a  day,"  she  whispered,  "  and  in 
such  a  place  as  this!  "  She  fell  to  wondering  if 
pedestrians  ever  tramped  over  that  dusty  road, 
or  if  a  team  ever  passed  the  house.  It  seemed  to 
Aunt  Zilla  that  the  sight  of  any  one  passing  would 

17 


i8  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

cause  almost  wild  delight.  A  moment  after,  an- 
other thought  less  welcome  came  to  her :  Did 
people  pass  that  way  after  dark?  If  so,  would 
the  sound  of  their  footsteps  lessen  the  feeling  of 
loneliness  and  desolation,  or  add  the  fear  that 
some  wayfarer  might  pause  to  knock  at  the  door? 

Out  in  the  garden,  Sylvia,  unaware  that  she 
was  being  watched,  wandered  up  one  weed-grown 
path,  and  down  another,  caressing  with  slender 
fingers  the  tall  flowers  that  reached  out  from  the 
mass  of  phlox,  columbine,  bachelor's  buttons,  and 
a  dozen  other  varieties  that  seemed  to  have  been 
planted  at  random. 

"  Oh,  the  foolishness  of  some  folks !  "  groaned 
Aunt  Zilla.  "  The  wildness  and  folly  of  running 
away  to  a  place  like  this,  instead  of  stayin'  where 
she  was,  with  a  rich  aunt  to  care  for  her,  and  a 
rich  man  dyin'  to  marry  her!  " 

She  leaned  against  the  window-frame,  still 
watching  Sylvia,  and  marvelling  that  one  so  fair 
should  choose  to  live  in  so  isolated  a  dwelling,  and 
for  a  year  and  a  day,  at  that!  Again  she  spoke  in 
a  voice  so  low  that  it  sounded  like  one  scarcely 
awake,  giving  utterance  to  thoughts  conceived  in 
dreamland. 

"  Engaged,  they  said,  to  young  Jack  Stanwood, 
possessed  of  little  save  good  looks,  and  a  brain 


FOR  A  YEAR  AND  A  DAY       19 

for  business.  Well,  she  hasn't  chose  ter  tell  me 
what  started  her  in  this  direction.  She  jest  wrote 
and  asked  me  would  I  agree  to  stan'  by  her  and 
be  her  housekeeper  fer  a  year  and  a  day!  Who 
ever  heard  such  a  date,  fer  a  contract?  '  A  year 
and  a  day !  '  Good  Ian' !  And  we've  but  just 
begun!  Who  ever  dreamt  the  place  would  be 
so  pokerish,  spookey,  or  any  other  name  that 
would  fit  it?" 

Then,  for  a  time  she  stood  by  the  window,  silent 
and  looking  out  with  eyes  that  seemed  unseeing, 
until  Sylvia's  hand  on  the  latch  awoke  her  from 
her  somber  dreaming.  She  heard  the  girl  enter, 
walk  along  the  hall,  and  then  into  the  living-room. 

"Oh  — !     What  have  you  done  ?  " 

''  Now,  Sylvia,  I've  done  the  only  sensible  thing 
that  could  be  done.  I've  took  them  things  that 
held  ye  spellbound, —  the  book,  the  candle,  and 
the  logs,  and  burned  them!  Yes,  burned  them 
in  the  range.  Why,  ye  look's  if  I'd  done  some- 
thing wicked!  " 

'  Well,  it  does  seem  strange  to  put  them  right 
out  of  the  way,  but  perhaps  it  was  best,  though 
I'd  never  have  said  '  yes  '  if  you'd  asked  me." 

;'  I  knew  it.  That's  why  I  didn't  ask.  I  done 
it.  Why,  Sylvia,  if  I  had  my  way,  I'd  burn  every 
stick  of  this  old  furniture  and  get  new  to  cheer 


20          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

ye  through  the  long  time  ye've  set  a  '  stunt '  to 
stay,  but  ye'd  not  consent." 

"  I'd  surely  not  consent.  You've  not  the 
money  to  spare,  and  neither  have  I.  Aunt  Daphne 
Van  Horn  always  spoke  of  me  to  her  friends 
as  an  heiress,  but  she  would  not  for  the  world 
have  told  them  how  small  was  my  inheritance," 
Sylvia  said. 

"  She  was  generous  with  ye,  wasn't  she?  " 

"  Always,"  Sylvia  replied,  "  save  in  one  mat- 
ter. She  gave  me  a  luxurious  home  and  pur- 
chased, with  a  lavish  hand,  all  the  fine  raiment 
that  my  exceedingly  small  income  would  not  buy; 
but  in  return  she  claimed  the  right  to  choose  a 
husband  for  me,  and  that  I  insisted  upon  doing 
for  myself.  So  here  I  am,  in  the  deserted  home 
of  my  godmother,  the  first  Sylvia  Durant,  deter- 
mined to  comply  with  the  terms  of  her  will,  and 
live  here,  as  it  directs,  for  a  year  and  a  day,  when 
I  shall  become  sole  heir  to  her  property." 

'  Well,  I  guess  when  the  time's  up  ye'll  think 
ye've  earned  it.  Is  this  old  place  all  ye'll  get  fer 
livin'  wretched  fer  a  year?  " 

"This!"  cried  Sylvia.  "Aunt  Zilla,  this  is 
a  very  small  part  of  the  Durant  property.  Be- 
side thirty  thousand  dollars  deposited  in  banks, 
there  is  real  estate  in  New  York,  the  value  of 


FOR  A  YEAR  AND  A  DAY       21 

which  is  yet  to  be  determined.  It  would  never  be 
reckoned  as  affluence,  but  it  would  be  a  back- 
ground for  Jack  and  me  while  he  is  making  his 
way  in  the  business  world,  and  there's  no  one 
worth  while  but  Jack." 

"H'm!  Ye  haven't  seen  the  whole  world 
yet,"  Aunt  Zilla  remarked  dryly. 

Receiving  no  reply,  she  continued:  "I've 
wondered  ever  since  yer  first  letter  came  why  ye 
chose  me  to-  stay  with  ye." 

11  First:  because  I'd  always  heard  you  spoken 
of  as  fearless;  and  second:  because  as  you  had 
always  lived  in  the  country,  you  were  less  likely  to 
be  impatient  of  these  surroundings  than  a  city- 
bred  woman  would  be,"  Sylvia  said. 

"  I've  lived  in  the  country,  surely,  but  I  'ain't 
never  been  in  the  wilderness  'til  now,"  was  the 
spirited  reply. 

It  was  at  twilight  that  Sylvia  received  an  en- 
tirely new  view  of  Aunt  Zilla's  character.  Brave, 
and  absolutely  fearless,  she  had  believed  her  to 
be,  yet  when  the  toast  and  tea  were  ready,  and 
they  had  taken  their  places  at  the  table,  the  older 
woman  had  abruptly  risen  and  crossed  the  little 
dining-room  to  the  window. 

'  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind  that  folks  is 
likely  ter  peep  in  at  them  winders,"  she  said,  and 


22          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

drew  the  shades  down  to  the  sill  in  nervous  haste. 

She  sat  down  opposite  Sylvia,  served  the  toast, 
and  was  sipping  her  tea,  when  a  slight  sound  made 
her  start. 

"  I'm  not  sure  I  bolted  that  door,"  she  said, 
and  again  she  left  the  table,  hastening  to  the  side 
door  to  learn  if  it  were  locked. 

"  And  that  is  the  fearless  woman  whom  I  have 
chosen  for  protector,"  Sylvia  murmured,  but 
when  they  resumed  eating  she  made  no  comment 
upon  the  evident  nervousness  of  her  companion. 
They  finished  the  meal  in  silence,  the  ticking  of 
the  clock,  the  only  sound  in  the  room.  Sylvia  was 
trying  to  convince  herself  that  the  nervous  fear 
so  evident  was  perhaps  the  result  of  the  long 
journey,  and  consequent  weariness,  and  that  once 
settled  down  in  the  place,  her  aunt  would  be  as 
brave  as  she  had  always  been  declared  to  be. 

Aunt  Zilla's  mind  was  filled  with  very  different 
thoughts.  "  What  in  the  world  ever  possessed 
me  ter  agree  ter  come  ter  this  awful  place?  If  we 
don't  go  wild  with  terror  we'll  do  well,"  she 
thought. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    FIRST    NIGHT 

SYLVIA  had  said  not  a  word  of  her  own  opin- 
ion of  the  old  house.     She  had  thought  her 
aunt's  prejudice  sufficiently  strong,  and  re- 
solved to  hide  the  fear  that  made  her  start  at  the 
least  sound.     She  had  known  that  she  would  be 
lonely  —  but    timid?     Afraid?     She    had   never 
thought  of  that. 

It  is  remarkable  how  many  uncanny  sounds  can 
emanate  from  the  walls  of  an  ancient  dwelling. 

However  silent  it  may  appear  to  be,  it  is  im- 
possible to  remain  long  under  its  roof  without 
hearing  the  creaking  of  a  rusty  hinge  or  the  rat- 
tling of  the  blind  if  the  wind  is  stirring,  the  scrap- 
ing of  branches  on  the  roof  if  trees  stand  near  the 
house,  to  say  nothing  of  countless  little  snapping 
sounds  for  which  no  one  could  account. 

Sylvia  was  glad  when  Aunt  Zilla,  rising  from 
the  table,  made  quite  a  stir  among  the  china,  as 
she  piled  it  upon  the  tray,  and  turned  toward  the 
kitchen. 

23 


24          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

It  was  a  small  task  to  wash  the  china,  and  when 
the  pieces  were  replaced  in  the  closet,  she  turned, 
and  looked  squarely  at  the  girl. 

"  Well,  Sylvia,"  she  said,  "  We've  the  evening 
before  us,  and  nothin'  very  excitin'  ter  ent'tain 
ourselves  with,  so  I'll  ask  which  ye  think  o'  doin'  ? 
Will  we  set  in  the  front  room,  or  the  dinin'- 
room?  " 

The  girl  looked  toward  the  living-room. 

"  Not  there  to-night,"  she  said. 

'  Then  there's  no  other  rooms  open  but  the 
kitchen,  so  our  choice  will  hev  ter  be  settin'  here 
or  in  the  kitchen,  or  goin'  ter  bed !  " 

Sylvia  shivered,  either  because  of  a  draft,  or 
at  the  thought  of  the  tiny  kitchen  from  which  the 
side  door  opened  out  into  the  garden. 

"  I'm  tired,"  she  said.  "  I  think  I'll  go  up  to 
my  room.  Perhaps  things  will  look  different  to- 
morrow." 

A  look  of  pity,  almost  of  sympathy  came  over 
the  thin  face  of  the  older  woman,  and  she  moved 
nearer,  laying  a  hand  on  the  girl's  shoulder. 

"  P'raps  it  will  seem  different  after  we're  some 
used  to  it,"  she  said. 

"  It's  our  first  day  here,  child.  I'll  lock  up, 
and  we'll  see  if  it  seems  any  more,  —  well  agree- 
able on  the  next  floor." 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  25 

Agreeable!  She  had  tried  to  choose  a  better 
word,  but  could  think  of  no  term  that  would  more 
fittingly  describe  what  she  hoped  to  find  on  the 
second  floor. 

Although  old  Sylvia  Durant  had  deliberately 
chosen  to  live  there,  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
not  been  fearless,  for  beside  the  ordinary  lock, 
both  front  and  side  doors  were  supplied  with 
three  formidable  bolts  —  one  near  the  latch,  one 
at  the  top,  and  one  at  the  bottom  of  each.  Aunt 
Zilla  took  care  that  all  were  securely  pushed  into 
place,  and  then  with  Sylvia  mounted  the  creaking 
stairs,  their  candles  lighting  the  way. 

The  chamber  over  the  living-room  was  to  be 
Sylvia's,  and  that  over  the  dining-room  Aunt 
Zilla's. 

They  paused  in  the  upper  hall,  then  with  a 
softly  spoken  "  good-night,"  turned  toward  their 
respective  rooms,  each  devoutly  hoping  that  after 
a  night's  rest,  the  dawn  would  bring  them  a  bit  of 
cheer. 

Aunt  Zilla  closed  the  door  of  her  rbom,  and 
looked  about  her.  Even  the  pattern  on  the  wall 
paper  appeared  to  be  a  series  of  blue  hobgoblins, 
dancing  wildly  about  upon  a  tan-colored  back- 
ground. Scrolls  and  arabesques  they  were,  but 
the  woman's  nerves  were  under  tight  tention,  and 


26          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  scrolls,  like  her  fear,  were  exaggerated. 
Hastily  she  undressed,  blew  out  the  dancing  flame 
of  the  candle,  and  sprang  into  bed,  and  although 
the  night  was  warm,  covered  her  ears  that  if 
strange  sounds  there  were,  she  might  not  hear 
them.  In  spite  of  her  fear,  sleep  overtook  her, 
and  soon  she  was  dreaming  of  the  long  ride  by 
coach  that  had  brought  them  to  the  old  Durant 
house. 

In  her  chamber,  Sylvia  stood  looking  about  her. 
She  had  placed  her  candle  upon  a  small  table,  and 
seeing  a  bolt  upon  the  door,  had  pushed  it  into 
place. 

The  furnishings  were  simple  but  of  fair  qual- 
ity; the  paper  garlanded  with  flowering  vines  was 
not  bad;  and  the  rug  that  covered  the  greater 
part  of  the  floor  was  of  quiet  coloring  and  in- 
definite design,  so  that,  as  a  whole,  the  effect  was 
rather  pleasing.  A  low,  reed  chair  stood  beside 
the  table,  and  like  one  in  a  day-dream,  Sylvia  sat 
down.  Her  suit-case  was  within  easy  reach,  and 
from  it  she  took  some  of  her  little  belongings. 
Not  a  thought  of  sleep»  had  she.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  her  eyes  were  wider  open  than 
they  had  been  at  any  time  during  the  day.  Me- 
chanically, she  removed  the  pins  from  her  hair, 
and  as  she  brushed  it,  sat  thinking,  thinking. 


27 

She  thought  of  Aunt  Daphne  Van  Horn,  and 
clearly  seemed  to  see  her  as  she  had  appeared  on 
the  last  afternoon  that  they  had  been  together. 
Again  and  again  she  had  tried  to  persuade  the  girl 
that  it  was  her  duty  to  marry  the  suitor  who  pos- 
sessed the  greatest  wealth.  Not  until  the  last  had 
she  used  the  obnoxious  word,  duty.  Rather,  she 
had  endeavored  to  show  the  advantage  of  such  a 
match. 

Earlier  she  had  spoken  disparagingly  of  Jack 
Stanwood,  but  a  flash  in  Sylvia's  eyes  had  in- 
stantly taught  her  the  folly  of  that,  and  she  left 
Jack's  name  out  of  all  arguments,  instead  taking 
great  pains  to  lay  stress  upon  the  social  position, 
great  wealth,  and  generosity  of  the  man  who  was 
cordially  disliked  by  Jack  and  by  Sylvia  herself. 

Finding  all  other  arguments  unavailing,  she  had 
used  the  last  one  that  occurred  to  her,  with  the 
most  surprising  result. 

How  well  Sylvia  remembered  that  interview. 
At  first,  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  been  cheerfully  de- 
termined, as  if  the  match  were  a  foregone  con- 
clusion, only  that  she  must  go  over  certain  details 
that  her  niece  might  clearly  see  what  was  expected 
of  her.  After  a  time,  realizing  that  the  girl  made 
no  response,  she  turned  sharply  to  look  at  her. 

"  Really,  Sylvia,  few  girls  promised  to  a  man 


28          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

like  that  would  seem  so  absolutely  indifferent. 
Haven't  you  a  word  to  say?  "  she  asked. 

"A  word?  Yes,  and  more  than  a  word. 
How  am  I  promised  to  the  man  you  are  talking 
of?  Surely  I  have  never  given  him  the  least  en- 
couragement—  much  less,  a  promise!"  Sylvia 
had  cried,  in  quick  anger. 

"  Such  matters  can  often  be  better  adjusted  by 
one  of  greater  experience.  /  told  him  that  you 
favored  him,  and  that  only  your  coquetry  kept 
you  from  showing  your  real  regard  for  him." 

"Aunt  Daphne!" 

"Well,  what  could  I  do?"  Mrs.  Van  Horn 
had  responded  hotly.  "  It  was  a  brilliant  match 
for  you  that  you  were  doing  your  best  to  throw 
away.  He  was  about  discouraged,  and  I  told  him 
that  to  hold  him  until  I  could  talk  with  you,  and 
get  you  to  listen  to  reason.  I  tell  you  it  is  your 
duty  to  marry  wealth.  I  took  you  when,  at  six 
years  old,  you  were  left  an  orphan.  I've  done 
all  I  could  for  you,  and  what  has  been  the  result? 
You've  turned  away  one  after  another  who  have 
had  wealth  and  position  to  offer,  while  you've 
clung  to  one  who  has  precious  little  to  boast  of. 
Oh,  it  is  almost  beyond  belief  that  a  girl  of  your 
intelligence  would  be  so  foolish!  " 

"  Is  it  foolish  to  want  to  marry  a  man  that  I 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  29 

can  love?"  Sylvia  had  asked  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  strange  even  to  herself. 

"Oh,  romance!"  had  been  the  angry  reply. 
"  And  a  great  romance  it  will  be  when  you  two 
try  to  live  on  less  than  enough  for  one.  If  Jack 
Stanwood  imagines  that  I'll  leave  enough  to  make 
you  a  help  to  him,  he's  greatly  mistaken.  You'll 
be  a  great  helpmeet  for  a  man  like  Jack,  and  I 
tell  you  now,  if  you  obstinately  engage  yourself 
to  him,  I'll  make  a  new  will,  and  revoke  my  be- 
quest to  you,  and  leave  it  to  public  charity  in- 
stead." 

With  this  threat  she  had  left  the  room  before 
Sylvia  could  reply,  and  a  few  moments  later  had 
gone  out  to  her  club. 

Still  brushing  her  waving  hair,  Sylvia's  thoughts 
shifted  to  what  had  occurred  a  few  days  later. 
Always  she  had  believed  that  Aunt  Daphne  Van 
Horn  loved  her.  That  she  showed  no  affection, 
Sylvia  considered  merely  a  peculiarity.  Mrs.  Van 
Horn  had  many  peculiarities,  among  them  a  fixed 
belief  that  love  was  quite  unnecessary  as  an  as- 
surance of  happiness  in  married  life. 

"  When  I  married  Marcus  Van  Horn  I  certainly 
had  no  foolish  dreams  of  love,  and  I  hardly  think 
he  thought  of  anything  so  romantic,"  she  said. 
"  He  was  a  man  of  vast  wealth,  and  wealth  I 


30          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

longed  for.  He  wanted  a  wife  who  would  be  an 
ornament  in  his  handsome  home,  and  chose  me. 
As  I  was  not  in  love  with  him,  I've  been  able 
very  comfortably  to  survive  his  death,  and  now 
possess  the  wealth  that  I  always  coveted.  Tell 
me,  was  not  the  match  fortunate?" 

"  From  one  point,  no,"  Sylvia  said  in  a  low 
voice;  "  for  much  as  I  like  ease  and  luxury,  I'd 
rather  have  true,  faithful  love  than  double  the 
fortune  that  you  now  possess." 

"  I  suppose  that  means  that  you  consider  Jack 
Stanwood  and  nothing  an  ideal  combination,"  was 
the  quick  retort,  made  more  bitter  by  the  sneer 
that  rendered  Mrs.  Van  Horn's  fine  face  repellent. 

Sylvia's  lips  for  a  moment  refused  to  reply. 
Her  anger  was  too  deep  for  words,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Horn,  turning  to  her  desk,  began  sorting  the 
mail  that  the  maid  had  just  brought  in. 

"  I  have  letters  to  write,"  she  said  coldly,  and 
Sylvia  had  been  only  too  glad  thus  to  be  dismissed. 

She  too,  must  write,  and  at  once,  a  letter  that 
would  tell  Jack  not  to  come  that  evening,  as  he 
had  promised;  yet  she  must  see  him. 

Where  could  they  meet? 

Three  weeks  before  she  had  received  the  notice 
of  the  terms  and  conditions  of  old  Sylvia  Durant's 
will.  Not  the  least  idea  had  she  at  that  time  of 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  31 

complying.  Safe  in  a  luxurious  home,  she  be- 
lieved that  Aunt  Daphne  loved  her  enough  to  re- 
lent, and  that  later  she  would  give  her  consent  to 
her  alliance  with  Jack,  and  she  dreamed  of  a 
happy  life  stretching  out  before  her. 

The  hope  of  converting  Aunt  Daphne  to  her 
own  way  of  thinking  was  now  worse  than  idle  and 
foolish;  it  was  impossible.  Mrs.  Van  Horn  was 
shallow  and  fickle,  but  once  her  mind  was  fixed 
regarding  a  matter,  no  power  on  earth  could  force 
her  to  change  it.  One  declaration  that  she  made 
had  sunk  deep. 

"  A  great  helpmeet  you  would  be !  "  she  had 
said,  and  that  had  hurt,  for,  now,  for  the  first 
time,  Sylvia  had  seen  how  poorly  equipped  she 
was  to  be  a  poor  man's  wife. 

Finely  trained  for  the  life  that  would  be  hers  if 
she  married  as  her  aunt  directed,  she  had  not  one 
useful  accomplishment  that  would  make  comfort 
in  a  modest  little  home. 

Plainly,  in  justice  to  Jack  she  must  comply  with 
her  godmother's  strange  request  —  leave  the 
home  that  now  could  only  be  unpleasant,  and  take 
up  her  residence  in  the  old  Durant  place  "  for  a 
year  and  a  day." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   NEWSMONGER 

AGAIN  the  scene  shifted  and  clearly  she 
seemed  to  see  Jack  as  he  had  looked  at 
their  last  meeting.  Wondering  why  he 
must  refrain  from  calling  at  the  Van  Horn  resi- 
dence, he  hastened  to  a  quiet  spot  in  the  park, 
where  they  had  often  met  before,  and  he  found 
Sylvia  waiting  for  him. 

"  I'm  not  late,"  he  had  said  with  a  laugh, 
"  You're  early;  "  then  a  look  in  her  eyes  told  him 
that  something  had  happened. 

'What  is  it,  Sylvia?  Tell  me,"  he  had  said. 
"  Something  is  troubling  you." 

He  had  listened  quietly  while  she  repeated  all 
that  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  said,  but  he  showed  not 
the  least  surprise. 

;'  Why  Jack,  how  calmly  you  take  it!  "  she  had 
said. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I  take  it  calmly?"  had 
been  the  quick  response.  "  I  have  always  known 
that  your  aunt  did  not  favor  me-,  so  that  could  not 

32 


A  NEWSMONGER  33 

surprise  me;  and  as  to  the  fact  of  her  promising 
you  to  that  braggart,  Langdon,  that  surely  was  no 
news,  for  Langdon  himself  is  spreading  the  story 
as  fast  as  he  can  at  the  clubs.  It  did  not  disturb 
me  greatly  because  I  did  not  believe  it. 

"  Even  now  that  you  say  it  is  true,  I  am  not  ex- 
cited. Her  promise  is  one  thing,  and  yours  is  an- 
other. He  doesn't  say  that  he  has  your  promise. 
He  says  that  he  has  hers,  and  her  promise  does 
not  worry  me.  Why,  Sylvia,  Langdon  could  never 
win  you  away  from  me !  " 

She  blessed  him  for  his  perfect  faith. 

"  He  never  could,"  she  had  said,  and  then  in 
the  heavy  shadow  of  the  trees  he  comforted  her, 
as  only  he  could  comfort.  Suddenly  she  had 
looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  It  is  getting  late,"  she  said,  "  and  I  haven't 
told  you  all  I  have  to  tell.  Jack,  I  can't  stay  with 
Aunt  Daphne.  It  would  be  unbearable  now,  not 
only  because  she  is  angry  with  me,  but  because 
from  now  on  she  will  continually  invite.  —  Oh, 
Jack !  You  know,  he  will  be  there  persistently !  " 

Then  Jack  had  said  exactly  what  she  knew  that 
he  would  say.  He  had  declared  that  it  was  "  an 
ill  wind  "  and  so  forth,  and  that  Mrs.  Van  Horn's 
bad  temper  and  Sylvia's  avowal  that  she  could  not 
live  there  proved  conclusively  that  there  was  but 


34          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

one  thing  to  be  done.  They  must  be  married 
without  further  delay  and  thus  solve  the  problem. 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  she  had  said,  quickly.  "  I  am 
going  away." 

And  then,  before  he  could  protest,  she  had 
told  him  of  Sylvia  Durant's  will  and  the  strange 
condition  under  which  she  could  inherit  the  prop- 
erty. It  was  in  vain  that  he  had  tried  to  deter 
her  from  her  purpose  —  to  lose  the  inheritance, 
if  she  must.  His  salary  had  just  been  raised,  he 
argued,  with  the  promise  of  another  raise  the  next 
year. 

She  did  not  tell  him  that  it  was  for  his 
sake  —  that  she  might  not  be  a  burden  —  that  she 
was  eager  to  go  to  the  lonely  old  house  for  that 
reason.  She  knew  only  too  well  how  he  would 
combat  that. 

Persistently  he  plead  with  her  to  give  up  the 
wild  scheme  for  winning  the  inheritance,  and  to 
be  content  with  what  he  had  to  offer.  With  equal 
persistence,  she  declared  her  determination  to  go. 
At  last  his  patience  gave  way. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  will  let  me  come  out  there 
to  see  you?"  he  said,  "or  did  your  godmother 
state  that,  to  make  matters  pleasanter,  you  were  to 
agree  to  have  no  guests?  " 

"  Jack,  if  you  come,  can  you  refrain  from  coax- 


A  NEWSMONGER  35 

ing  me  to  give  it  up,  and  go  back  to  the  city  with 
you?" 

'  No,  I  can  not!  The  whole  thing  is  a  crazy 
scheme,  designed  to  make  us  both  wretched,"  he 
had  replied,  "  and  I'd  be  a  fool  not  to  use  every 
effort  to  make  you  relent." 

'  Then,  Jack,  you  must  not  come,"  had  been 
her  calm  reply. 

Wheedling,  coaxing,  arguing  were  alike  un- 
availing, and  they  had  parted,  each  hurt  and  an- 
gry, and  each  convinced  that  the  other  was  wrong. 

Sylvia  still  sat  by  the  little  table,  but  the  brush 
had  slipped  from  her  listless  fingers  and  lay  idly 
in  her  lap,  while  the  long  waving  hair,  glistening  in 
the  flickering  candle  light,  fell  about  her  face  and 
down  upon  her  arms. 

Plainly  she  seemed  to  see  Jack's  strong  athletic 
figure,  his  firm  mouth  that  yet  could  smile  so  pleas- 
antly, his  clear  blue  eyes  that  looked  fearlessly  out 
from  beneath  level  brows.  But  even  as  she  sat 
thus  the  smile  appeared  to  vanish,  and  she  seemed 
to  see  him  as  he  had  looked  when  they  parted,  his 
lips  firmly  closed;  was  it  anger  or  pain  that  held 
them  thus?  About  the  expression  of  his  eyes 
there  was  no  question.  Nothing  but  pain  could 
make  them  look  like  that. 

He  had  believed  that  the  girl  could  not  per- 


36          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

suade  herself  to  share  an  income  so  limited,  and 
that  greed  had  urged  her  to  comply  with  the  terms 
of  the  will.  And  it  had  hurt;  oh,  how  it  had  hurt 
to  let  him  believe  that  greed  was  her  motive,  yet 
what  could  she  do?  Had  she  told  him  that  she 
was  undertaking  the  task  for  his  sake,  that  she 
might  not  come  to  him,  empty-handed,  he  would 
have  made  it  still  harder  for  her  to  carry  out  the 
plan  upon  which  she  had  determined.  It  ren- 
dered the  loneliness  still  harder,  that  she  was  mak- 
ing so  great  a  sacrifice,  while  so  completely  mis- 
understood. 

A  sigh  escaped  her  lips,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  realized  how  long  she  had  sat  thinking.  She 
glanced  at  the  little  clock  upon  the  mantel.  It 
had  not  been  wound  for  a  year. 

u  You  shall  go  for  a  year  and  a  day,"  she 
thought,  as  she  took  her  tiny  watch  from  her 
girdle.  Both  watch  and  fob  glittered  in  the 
candle-light,  but  the  watch  had  stopped.  Did 
all  things  stop  in  that  strange  old  house  ? 

She  braided  the  long,  soft  hair,  undressed, 
blew  out  the  flickering  flame,  and  then  going  over 
to  the  window,  looked  out. 

Moonlight  touched  the  riot  of  flowers  and 
shrubbery  in  the  garden,  and  lay  a  silver  path 
along  that  part  of  the  road  near  the  fence.  The 


A  NEWSMONGER  37 

forest,  dark  and  somber  on  the  other  side,  cast  a 
heavy  shadow  half  way  across  the  road.  She 
turned  from  the  window,  and  crossing  the  room, 
lay  down,  very  wide-awake,  but  also  very  weary. 
Drowsiness  at  last  crept  over  her,  and  half-awake 
she  murmured : 

"Oh,  Jack!     Jack!     I  felt  I  must  do  this  — 
for  —  you." 


Morning,  and  Sylvia  awoke  feeling  that  dark- 
ness and  terror  had  fled  hand  in  hand.  She  had 
not  moved,  having  slept  the  dreamless  sleep  of 
extreme  weariness.  She  felt  refreshed. 

The  fact  of  having  taken  possession  of  the  old 
house  was  unaltered,  but  in  the  sunlit  haze  of  early 
morning,  she  saw,  as  from  a  different  view-point. 
She  arose,  and  went  over  to  the  window  and 
looked  out. 

The  road  that  had  been  so  lonely  by  moon- 
light now  appeared  to  have  taken  on  a  more 
cheerful  aspect,  and  even  the  tall  trees  on  the  op- 
posite side  seemed  less  dark  and  forbidding. 
Only  here  and  there  could  a  ray  of  sunlight  filter 
through  the  heavy  foliage,  but  where  it  did  ap- 
pear, it  danced  upon  the  green  moss  at  the  foot 
of  the  trees  like  merry  elves  at  play. 


38          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Sylvia  leaned  from  the  window,  and  looked 
down  into  the  garden.  The  flowers  and  shrubbery, 
dew-laden,  seemed  beckoning  to  her.  "  Things 
look  more  friendly  this  morning,"  she  said. 

She  laughed  as  it  flashed  through  her  mind  that 
elaborate  toilets  would  not  be  required  in  her 
present  position,  and  well  she  knew  the  look  of 
contempt  that  would  appear  on  Aunt  Daphne's 
fine  face,  could  she  but  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  now. 
She  had  twisted  her  waving  hair  into  a  loose  knot 
and  pinned  it  securely.  Then  she  had  slipped 
into  the  simplest  muslin  gown  that  she  owned, 
and  hastened  down  to  the  garden. 

It  was,  of  course,  the  riot  of  flowers  and  weeds 
of  the  night  before,  the  same  untrimmed  shrub- 
bery and  clambering  vines,  the  same  weed-grown 
paths,  but,  for  some  reason  that  she  could  not 
have  explained,  the  blossoming  branches  that 
overhung  the  path  and  tapped  her  shoulder,  or 
caught  at  her  gown  as  she  passed  seemed  more 
friendly  than  the  erect  plants  of  a  formal  garden. 
Like  hands  of  little  children,  they  reached  out, 
unabashed  and  unrebuked,  to  bid  her  welcome. 

Already  the  bees  were  at  work,  and  the  girl 
hummed  softly,  as  if  to  keep  them  company. 

She  gathered  a  few  stalks  of  the  tall  scarlet 
balm  and  a  fine,  feathery  white  flower  that  looked 


A  NEWSMONGER  39 

well  with  it,  and  went  in  to  find  a  vase  or  jar  in 
which  to  place  them.  "  They'll  brighten  the  liv- 
ing-room," she  thought. 

A  tall,  green  pitcher  in  the  corner  cupboard 
served  her  purpose,  and  she  took  it  to  the  kitchen 
for  water.  The  clatter  of  dishes  told  that  Aunt 
Zilla  was  stirring,  and  Sylvia,  appearing  in  the 
doorway,  made  her  start. 

"  Good  land !  I  thought  ye  were  a  ghost  I 
didn't  call  ye,  for  I  thought  ye  was  tired,  and 
might  like  ter  sleep;  an'  here  ye've  been  out  in 
that  crazy  old  garden,  wandering  'round  in  sop- 
ping-wet weeds.  Sylvia,  ye  oughtn't  ter  be  care- 
less in  this  out-er-the-way  place !  Why  didn't  ye 
put  on  rubbers?  Yer  feet  are  wet,  I'll  war- 
rant!" 

'  They're  not.  These  shoes  are  stout,  and  if 
the  shoes  are  wet,  my  feet  are  not;  and  see  the 
flowers  I've  gathered  for  the  living-room,"  the 
girl  replied. 

"  Flowers  will  help  to  make  it  cheerful." 
'  There's   certainly   room   fer  improvement," 
Aunt  Zilla  said,  "  and  I  will  say  them  red  and 
white  blossoms  do  look  sort  o'  gay." 

Later  in  the  forenoon  she  appeared  in  the  hall, 
dressed  as  if  she  were  going  some  little  distance, 
for  she  wore  her  wraps,  although  the  day  was 


40          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

warm;  a  small  veil  was  drawn  tightly  over  her 
face,  and  her  right  hand  firmly  grasped  the  handle 
of  her  umbrella. 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going?  "  cried  Sylvia. 
For  a  brief  moment  she  wondered  if  Aunt  Zilla 
contemplated  leaving. 

"  Down-town,  wherever  down-town  is  in  this 
strange  place,"  was  the  answer.  "  There's  some 
things  needed  that  didn't  come  over  from  the 
store,  and  I  thought  I'd  take  a  walk  just  ter  nudge 
them  a  bit,  an'  at  the  same  time  find  out  if  that 
everlastin'  road  leads  anywhere.  It  looks  as  if 
it  had  no  end.  Will  ye  mind  stayin'  here  while'st 
I'm  gone?  Sylvia,  would  ye  rather  come  with 
me?" 

Sylvia  had  followed  her  out  to  the  front  porch, 
and  she  laughed  as  she  seated  herself  upon  the 
upper  step  and  leaned  against  the  post  that  was 
half  concealed  by  the  rose  vines. 

"  Of  course,  I'll  not  mind  remaining  here," 
she  said,  "  especially  as  I'm  not  eager  for  a  walk 
this  hot  morning.  I'll  choose  a  cooler  day  to  ex- 
plore the  place." 

"  Hot  or  cold,  I'm  goin'  ter  find  the  store  if 
there  is  one !  "  Aunt  Zilla  declared;  and  she  strode 
forth,  a  determined  figure  in  the  June  sunlight. 

She  had  watched  the  grocer's  boy  as  he  left  the 


A  NEWSMONGER  41 

house,  and  up  the  road  she  went  in  the  same  di- 
rection that  he  had  taken  to  return  to  the  store. 
Tall,  dark,  and  wiry,  she  looked  as  if  nothing 
could  stop  her,  but  something  did,  and  but  a 
short  distance  from  the  house. 

Trees  and  underbrush  at  the  side  of  the  road 
now  hid  her  angular  figure  from  the  girl  on  the 
porch,  who  had  watched  her  departure.  Similar 
clumps  along  the  way  alternated  with  long  sunny 
stretches,  boasting  never  a  bit  of  shade,  so  that 
she  was  alternately  hidden  in  the  shadow,  and  dis- 
played in  the  sunshine. 

She  was  approaching  a  thick  clump  of  alders 
when  a  shrill  voice  talking  caused  her  to  halt  for 
a  second,  and  then,  impelled  by  curiosity,  pro- 
ceed. 

'  This  'ere  is  the  darnedest  town  on  the  map !  " 
cried  the  wiry  individual  who  stood  by  the  road- 
side talking  to  himself,  or  to  the  landscape,  no 
one  could  say  which. 

*  The  ^ww-darn-dest !  "  he  cried  with  increased 
energy,  just  as  Aunt  Zilla  appeared  in  sight. 

11  I  agree  with  ye,"  she  promptly  responded, 
"  But  man  alive!  ye  oughtn't  ter  give  voice  ter 
such  sent'ments.  Don't  ye  know  ye  ought  ter 
boom  the  place  ye  live  in?  " 

"  Boom  it!     Boom  it,  did  ye  say?     Wai,  that 


42  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

shows  ye're  a  stranger  in  these  parts.  Why, 
woman!  It'd  take  more  whack  than  you  er  I 
have  got  ter  boom  it.  Why,  it's  just  that  dead 
that  a  bomb  drapped  in  the  square  wouldn't  ex- 
plode. 'Twouldn't  make  a  sound.  'Twould  jist 
roll  over  and  fall  quietly  in  pieces." 

Drawing  nearer,  and  looking  at  her  with  cur- 
ious eyes,  he  asked  a  question.  "  Does  the  gal, 
Miss  Sylvia,  like  here?  Is  she  contented  here 
since  ye  brung  her?  " 

"  I  didn't  bring  her.  Not  much !  It's  none  er 
my  doin's.  It's  she  that  brung  me,  an'  some 
agin'  my  will,  too." 

"  Ye  don't  say!  "  ejaculated  the  man. 

"  I  do  say  it  an'  I'd  like  ter  ask  ye  somethin'. 
Where  d'ye  git  her  name  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  easy.  Jim  Jimson  druv  ye  over 
here  in  the  stage,  and  while  he  didn't  ketch  yer 
last  names,  he  did  hear  ye  call  the  gal  '  Sylvia,'  so 
he  said  down  ter  the  '  store  '  that  she  looked  so 
d'jected,  he  bet  a  dollar  ye  brung  her  agin'  her 
will." 

"  The  idee !  A  batch  er  newsmongers  squat- 
tin'  'round  a  store,  and  fixin'  up  a  story  ter  suit 
yerselves !  Why  we've  just  ariv !  " 

Aunt  Zilla's  black  eyes  snapped. 

"  Oh,  they  didn't  mean  no  harm,  but  say!  "  he 


A  NEWSMONGER  43 

continued,  "  Miss  Sylvia  looks  tur'ble  gentle  an' 
sweet.  How  on  airth  could  she  make  ye?" 

"  She  could/  "  Aunt  Zilla  said  firmly.  "  She's 
gentle  an'  sweet,  as  ye  say,  but  she's  got  the  de- 
term'nation  of  the  Durants." 

"  'Twa'n't  no  love  affair  sent  her  'way  from  city 
life,  was  it?  Didn't  no  feller  go  back  on  her, 
did  he?" 

The  old  woman's  eyes  blazed,  and  she  lifted  her 
umbrella  as  if  to  strike  him,  then,  as  he  dodged, 
let  it  fall  in  sheer  amazement. 

'  Who  ever  heard  of  any  man  goin'  back  on  a 
Durant,  ye  loon'tic?  There's  a  dozen  men  that 
hev  been  danglin'  after  Sylvia  Durant,  but  she  run 
away  from  all  of  'em,  and  lugged  herself  and  me 
here,"  said  Aunt  Zilla. 

"  She's  a  beauty,  so  folks  is  apt  ter  think  they's 
a  romance  hitched  ter  her,  along  o'  its  bein'  un- 
common fer  a  young  woman  ter  come  ter  live  in 
that  ol'  rookery,"  said  the  man. 

"  Git  out!  "  cried  Aunt  Zilla,  "an'  tend  ter  yer 
own  bis'ness  if  ye've  got  any,  or  I'll  hev  some- 
thin'  happen  that  won't  be  a  romance  fer  ye  by  a 
long  odds.  Git!  " 

"  No,  'fence,"  he  ventured  humbly. 

But  Aunt  Zilla,  thoroughly  indignant,  uttered 
but  one  syllable:  "H'm!"  and  stalked  off  up 


44  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  road,  tapping  the  ground  with  her  umbrella 
as  she  went. 

Josh  Lumley,  the  village  do-nothing,  looked 
after  her  thin  figure. 

"  Ought  not  ter  'fended  her,"  he  said  in  an  un- 
dertone. "  Might  like  ter  pump  her  agin." 


CHAPTER  V 

MAKING    NEW    FRIENDS 

AFTER  a  long  hot  jaunt,  Aunt  Zilla  arrived 
at  the  store,  and  enjoyed  the  relief  of  ex- 
pressing her  opinion  of  a  man  who  for- 
got several  articles  on  a  plainly  written  order. 

"  Oh,  well,  I'm  apt  ter  forget  things  some- 
times, same's  most  folks  do,"  was  the  drawling 
reply,  "  but  I  don't  forgit  everything.  Ter  show 
ye:  I  heared  'bout  ye  fust  day  ye  come  on  the 
stage  with  a  mighty  pooty  gal.  Jim  Jimson  told 
the  hull  batch  of  us  as  was  settin'  'round  the  store, 
an'  I  ain't  forgot  it  yet.  Coin'  ter  stay  at  the  old 
house  a  spell?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said  shortly,  "  and  ye  may  as  well 
send  a  bag  er  flour  over  with  the  other  things." 

"  All  right.  I'll  be  prompt.  Ye're  what  I  call 
a  fust-class  customer.  Ye  ordered  a  pound  er 
tea !  I  hain't  sold  over  a  half  or  a  quarter  of  er 
pound  er  tea  at  a  time  since  time  out  er  mind. 
Got  means,  hain't  ye?" 

"  See  here !  "  cried  Aunt  Zilla,  "  I've  lived  in 

45 


46  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  country  all  my  life,  but  where  I  come  from, 
they  didn't  ask  questions  like  that." 

"  We  ask  questions  here,  'cause  that's  all  the 
way  we're  likely  ter  find  out,"  was  the  cool  reply. 

"  It  didn't  work  that  time,"  Aunt  Zilla  said. 

"  No,  but  it  might  the  next,  there's  no  tellin', 
but  say!  Coin'  ter  like  here?"  he  asked  curi- 
ously. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Seems  like  a  queer 
place." 

"  Queer  I  Wai,  now  ye've  hit  the  nail  on  the 
head.  Queer!  "  he  repeated.  "  Say,  d'ye  know 
why  they  named  this  'ere  place  Blossomville? 
'Cause  there's  always  plenty  o'  blossoms,  but 
darned  little  fruit." 

Without  waiting  for  any  comment  he  con- 
tinued: "  Don't  make  no  odds  whether  it's  pear- 
trees,  apple-trees,  er  plum-trees,  it's  all  the  same. 
Trees  chuck  full  o'  blossoms  in  the  spring,  but 
when  it  comes  time  ter  gather,  there's  nary  fruit. 
Why,  squash-vines  in  this  local'ty  has  blossoms 
'bout  the  size  er  soup-plates,  but  what  of  it? 
They  'ain't  no  squashes  worth  mentionin'.  Same 
with  folks.  The  children  'round  here  is  han'some 
when  they're  little,  but  look  at  'em  later,  an'  see 
what  they  be !  There's  Sarah  Ann  Gates. 
Han'some  child  as  ever  was;  but  Lawd!  Look 


MAKING  NEW  FRIENDS        47 

at  her  now!  Long  legs  an'  arms!  Why,  her 
arms  saw  the  air  so  I  can't  never  think  of  any- 
thing but  a  windmill  when  I  see  her  talkin'  an' 
gestick'latin',  an'  as  fer  her  complexion!  Good 
Lawd!  I  tell  ye,  we  blossom  here  all  right,  but 
we  'mejitly  peter  out." 

"Ye're  givin'  out  a  poor  'pinion  of  the  place," 
Aunt  Zilla  remarked,  hoping  that  he  would  con- 
tinue. He  did. 

"  What  I'm  tellin'  is  true,"  he  responded,  "  As 
true  as  my  name's  Nat  Gates.  Sarah  Ann,  I 
spoke  of,  is  my  niece.  Why,  gals  has  plenty  o' 
'tention  as  long  as  they're  good  ter  look  at,  but 
here  in  Blossomville,  jist  as  soon's  a  gal  is  out'n 
her  'teens,  she's  a  sight  ter  behold!  'Tis  so! 
'Tain't  no  use  ter  tell  the  gals  here  ter  marry  fer 
love !  They  hev  ter  grab  the  fust  man  that  axes 
'em  'cause  they  don't  never  expect  ter  git  'nother 
chance.  Time  they're  over  twenty  they  look  like 
old  witches.  Tell  'bout  ketchin'  time  by  the  fore- 
lock. Great  Peter!  They  hev  ter  grab  him  by 
the  hull  scalp!  " 

Aunt  Zilla  was  amused  and  her  black  eyes 
twinkled.  She  was  about  to  speak,  when  the 
talkative  one  resumed. 

'  That's  why  folks  here  is  so  'mejitly  int'rested 
in  Miss  Sylvia  —  what  did  ye  say  her  name  was?  " 


48          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  I  hadn't  said,"  she  replied,  "  but  I'm  willin' 
ter  say  her  name  is  jest  like  her  aunt's  was  — 
Sylvia  Durant." 

"  Oh,  ye  don't  say!     Wai,  she's  a  beauty." 

He  leaned  over  the  counter,  his  face  expressing 
wild  interest,  or  curiosity,  who  could  say  which? 
Possibly  it  was  a  little  of  each. 

"  Is  yer  name  Durant,  too?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  I'm  Mrs.  Drusilla  Bond.  Sylvia  calls 
me  '  Aunt  Zilla.'  " 

"  Pleased  ter  know  ye,"  was  the  truthful  re- 
sponse, "  'n'  I'll  give  ye  a  piece  er  news  ter  take 
back  home  with  ye :  The  Squire's  goin'  ter  call  at 
yer  place.  He  is  for  a  fact ;  he  told  me  so.  Folks 
here  allus  likes  ter  git  'quainted  with  any  new  folks 
that  come  here,  but  I  expect  the  Squire  is  struck 
all  of  er  heap  with  Miss  Sylvia,  bein'  he's  tur'ble 
in  a  hurry  ter  call." 

"Why,  man  alive,  he  'ain't  seen  her!  We 
haven't  but  just  come,"  Aunt  Zilla  said,  looking 
at  the  man  in  amazement. 

"  Oh,  he  seen  her,  all  right.  He  drove  by 
the  old  house,  an'  stopped  in  to  talk  with  me 
when  he  came  back,  an'  he  said  as  how  he'd  call 
soon,  an'  lose  no  time  'bout  it.  He  seen  her  with 
a  white  gown  on,  a  wand'rin'  about  the  ol'  garding, 


MAKING  NEW  FRIENDS        49 

an'  he's  bound  to  know  her.  As  I  told  ye,  the 
Squire's  struck  all  of  a  heap !  " 

"  Then  he  may  as  well  stay  in  a  heap  for  all 
the  good  it'll  do  him,"  was  the  angry  retort. 

"  Good  land,  woman!  Don't  fly  in  the  face  of 
Prov'dence !  The  Squire  ain't  ter  be  sneezed  at, 
not  by  a  jugful.  He's  good-lookin',  an'  what's 
more  —  he's  got  means,  the  Squire  has.  He's 
well  ter  to  do,  I  tell  ye.  Why,  he's  got  —  Wai, 
I'll  be  hanged!" 

Aunt  Zilla,  too  angry  for  words,  had  turned, 
and  left  the  store. 

Open-mouthed,  Nat  Gates  leaned  over  the 
counter,  and  watched  the  tall  thin  figure  as  it  hur- 
ried down  the  road. 

"  Wall,  I  vum !  Kind  o'  toppin',  wa'n't  she  ?  " 
he  remarked,  but  there  was  no  one  present  to  re- 
ply. 

Alone  on  the  porch,  Sylvia  sat  looking  down 
at  the  flowers  over  which  the  bees  were  hovering. 
A  big  yellow-striped  hummer  was  trying  to  en- 
ter a  small  bell-flower,  buzzing  all  the  while,  as 
if  angry  because  the  blossom  was  a  "  tight  fit." 

As  she  dreamily  gazed,  she  thought  of  the 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  stretching  out 
before  her.  She  rose,  and  walked  down  to  the 


50          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

gate.  She  looked  out  upon  the  lonely  road.  The 
sound  of  dry  twigs  snapping  made  her  start. 

"Have  I  the  courage  to  remain  here?"  she 
thought. 

"Hark!  What  was  that  sound?"  she  asked 
herself. 

She  turned  from  the  gate  and  went  back  to  the 
porch. 

"  The  one  extra  day  we  spent  here  yesterday," 
she  said  half  aloud.  u  How  can  I  occupy  all  the 
others  so  that  the  waiting  will  be,  well, —  bear- 
able?" 

The  loneliness,  and  the  fear  at  night,  and  — 
yes  those  indescribable  sounds.  She  turned  as  a 
familiar  creaking  made  her  start. 

"  There  is  the  cause  of  at  least  one  of  the 
abominable  noises,"  she  said  in  quick  relief. 

Out-hanging  from  the  side  of  the  house,  just 
below  her  chamber  window,  was  a  rusty  swing- 
ing sign  bearing  the  legend:  "  Sign  of  the  Three 
Birches."  She  laughed,  and  thought  how  for- 
tunate it  would  be  if  all  the  strange  sounds  could 
be  as  easily  accounted  for. 

"  The  noises  of  the  night  are  awful,"  she  said. 

A  low  whine  startled  her.  Then  it  was  re- 
peated a  bit  louder.  She  looked  around  her  to 
learn  whence  it  came,  and  there,  where  a  picket 


had  fallen  from  the  fence,  were  two  soft  brown 
eyes  looking  wistfully  at  her. 

"  Do  you  want  to  come  in?  "  she  asked,  and  a 
joyful  bark  replied.  She  ran  along  the  path  to 
the  gate,  through  which  a  handsome  red  setter 
bounded  as  soon  as  it  was  opened. 

"Down,  Sir!  Down!"  Sylvia  cried,  for  in 
evident  delight  he  was  bounding  about  her, 
springing  up  in  an  effort  to  kiss  her. 

He  was  well  trained,  for  he  hung  his  head,  as 
if  abashed  at  his  rudeness,  yet  he  leaned  lovingly 
against  her,  and  looked  up  at  her  with  eyes  that 
plead  forgiveness. 

"  Oh,  you're  a  good  dog,"  said  the  girl,  pat- 
ting his  fine  head,  "  only  you're  —  well  —  rather 
impulsive." 

"  Good  dog,"  he  knew  the  meaning  of,  and 
wagged  his  tail,  but  the  remainder  of  the  sentence 
he  did  not  comprehend,  so  he  continued  to  watch 
her  face  for  further  signs  of  welcome. 

"  Come,  sit  here  beside  me,"  and  as  she  spoke, 
Sylvia  returned  to  her  seat  on  the  porch,  and  the 
dog,  quite  as  if  he  had  always  lived  there,  dropped 
down  beside  her,  his  forepaws  overhanging  the 
edge  of  the  porch.  His  coat  was  silky,  and  he 
appeared  to  be  well  fed,  as  if  his  owner  cared  for 
him,  but  he  wore  no  collar.  He  lay  content  be- 


52          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

side  Sylvia,  as  if  he  had  no  thought  of  leaving. 
As  she  talked  to  him  he  snuggled  nearer,  and  when 
her  slender  hand  caressed  his  head,  he  showed 
his  evident  pleasure. 

"  No  collar,  no  name,  and  an  owner  —  no  one 
knows  where.  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  keep  you,  lad- 
die." 

At  the  last  word  he  whined  with  delight,  and 
reached  to  lap  her  cheek. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  cried,  dodging  the  caress,  and 
laughing,  "  but  is  '  Laddie  '  your  name?  " 

It  seemed  as  if  the  dog  all  but  spoke.  He 
wagged  his  tail  until  his  entire  body  was  in  mo- 
tion, he  pranced  about,  and  in  every  way  that  lay 
in  his  power,  he  told  her  that  the  name  fitted. 

"  Well,  Laddie  you  shall  be,  as  long  as  I  have 
you  with  me,  and  dear  Laddie,  I  do  hope  your 
master  will  be  long  in  learning  where  you  are," 
Sylvia  said;  and  then,  happier  because  of  the  new, 
dumb  friend,  she  sat  dreaming,  her  arm  about  the 
dog's  neck. 

Both  girl  and  dog  were  content,  and  for  a  long 
time  they  sat  thus,  the  dog  often  turning  to  look 
up  at  her,  his  soft  eyes  eloquent.  It  was  Laddie 
who  first  heard  a  sound  of  approach,  and  he 
pricked  up  his  ears,  alert,  listening.  Then  Sylvia 
heard  it.  It  was  a  horse's  hoof-beats  on  the  road, 


MAKING  NEW  FRIENDS         53 

and  almost  as  soon  as  she  had  heard  it,  the  horse 
and  rider  appeared  from  behind  the  wild  shrub- 
bery that  had  hidden  them. 

The  horse,  a  fine,  well-groomed  animal,  guided 
by  the  firm  hand  on  his  bridle,  walked  up  to  the 
fence  and  reached  over  to  nip  at  the  nearest  shrub. 
His  rider,  a  stout,  prosperous-looking  man,  di- 
rected all  his  attention  to  the  occupants  of  the 
porch.  His  ruddy  face  was  clean-shaven,  his 
gray  hair  closely  cropped,  and  his  small  gray  eyes 
looked  with  lively  interest  at  the  girl,  the  twinkle 
in  them  rendering  his  expression  kindly,  although 
his  mouth  was  firmly  set,  as  if  he  were  one  who 
considered  his  will  preeminent.  It  was  apparent 
at  a  glance  that,  whoever  he  might  be,  his  clothing 
was  neither  purchased  nor  made  in  Blossomville, 
but  that  which  made  the  strongest  impression  was 
the  man's  absolute  confidence.  He  was  always 
sure  of  himself.  Sometimes  a  bit  too  sure. 

He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  graceful,  white- 
gowned  figure  on  the  porch  before  she  had  seen 
him,  and  he  had  approached  boldly,  expecting  to 
see  a  look  of  keen  interest  on  her  sweet  face, 
caused  by  his  unexpected  appearance.  Instead,  it 
was  the  dog  who  looked  alert  and  curious.  The 
girl  looked  up  without  apparent  interest,  but  when 
the  rider  drew  up  to  the  fence  and  stopped,  her 


54  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

level  brows  lifted  a  trifle,  as  if  questioning  why 
he  paused. 

"  Pleasant  morning,"  he  ventured,  not  as  if  that 
were  news,  but  as  if  he  used  the  remark  as  an  en- 
tering wedge. 

"  Charming,"  was  the  response,  gently  spoken, 
but  inviting  nothing  further,  in  the  way  of  con- 
versation. 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  know  it,  but  I  am  Luke 
Elmore,  Squire  Elmore,  they  call  me  here,"  he 
said. 

"  Are  you?  "  Sylvia  said  quietly. 

"  Well,  now,  Miss,  Miss  —  I  don't  know 
your  name,  but  I  came  to  give  you  a  sort  of  wel- 
come here,"  he  said  in  an  injured  tone.  '  We 
don't  wait  for  introductions  in  this  little  place,  and 
if  we  did,  who'd  introduce  me  to  you?  There's 
no  one  here  who  knows  you." 

"  Is  this  dog  yours,  and  did  you  stop  to  get 
him?  "  Sylvia  asked. 

"That  dog?  No,"  replied  the  squire.  His 
vanity  was  greatly  hurt,  in  that  he  had  made  no 
impression,  but  at  least  she  had  spoken,  and  he 
was  thankful  for  that. 

"  That's  the  dog  the  chap  left  on  the  platform 
when  he  skipped  town  in  a  hurry  yesterday." 


MAKING  NEW  FRIENDS         55 

"  Oh,  then  he'll  come  back  to  get  him,  and  I'd 
hoped  I  could  keep  him  here,"  Sylvia  said  with 
grieving  in  her  voice. 

In  her  anxiety  regarding  her  new,  dumb  friend, 
she  forgot  the  reserve  that  she  had  determined  to 
maintain.  Her  arm  tightened  on  the  dog's  neck, 
and  again  he  looked  up  into  her  eyes. 

"  He'd  be  a  comfort  in  the  long  days,"  she  said, 
"  but  oh,  at  night,  with  Laddie  in  the  house,  I'd 
never  fear." 

'  Well,  I  guess  you'll  have  no  great  difficulty 
in  keeping  him,"  was  the  comforting  reply,  "  for 
he  acts  as  if  he  felt  well  contented,  and  as  to  his 
owner  ever  coming  for  him,  you  need  have  no 
fear.  He  left  a  bill  for  three  weeks'  board  at 
the  little  tavern,  together  with  a  few  other  bills 
unpaid,  and  when  he  jumped  aboard  the  train,  he 
drove  the  dog  back  onto  the  platform;  so  as  he 
was  purposely  left,  I  guess  he's  yours,  if  you  want 
him." 

"Oh,  Laddie,  Laddie!"  was  all  Sylvia  could 
say,  so  great  was  her  relief. 

"How  did  you  know  his  name?"  the  Squire 
asked,  to  prolong  the  conversation;  "  he  seems  to 
be  wearing  no  collar." 

"  I    happened   to    call   him   '  Laddie,'    and   he 


56          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

seemed  wild  with  delight,  so  I  believe  that  is  his 
name,  and  Laddie  he  shall  be." 

"  And  now  as  I  want  to  be  a  kindly  neighbor 
in  this  little  place,  may  I  know  your  name?  " 

"  I  am  Sylvia  Durant,"  she  said  quietly. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  CALLER  AT  "  THE  BIRCHES  " 

AUNT  ZILLA,  filled  with  wrath  that  the 
storekeeper  had  dared  to  speak  of  any 
resident  as  aspiring  to  know  Sylvia,  strode 
resolutely  down  the  road,  occasionally  ejaculat- 
ing; "  H'm!  "  as  a  vent  to  her  anger. 

Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  he  who  thus 
aspired  was  even  more  to  be  despised,  and  she 
thumped  the  ground  with  her  umbrella. 

Judge  of  her  emotions  when,  as  she  neared  the 
house,  she  saw  a  stout,  florid  man  mounted  upon 
a  fine  horse,  and  apparently  enjoying  a  chat  with 
Sylvia. 

"  Didn't  let  much  grass  grow  under  his  feet, 
did  he?"  she  whispered.  "Wai,  I  guess  Sylvia 
could  freeze  him, —  Why,  of  all  things !  She's 
talking  to  him!  " 

A  few  steps  nearer  she  espied  the  dog,  and 
spoke  her  thoughts. 

"  Good  land !  Has  he  brung  her  a  present  the 
fust  time  he  set  eyes  on  her?  Wai,  if  he  must 
bring  a  animal,  I  do  hope  he  won't  keep  it  up,  fer 

57 


58          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  place  ain't  big  'nough  fer  a  menagerie,  an' 
pussonally,  I'd  not  like  the  care  of  one." 

Before  Aunt  Zilla  reached  the  house,  the  Squire 
had  lifted  his  hat,  and  rode  on. 

She  hurried  forward,  opened  the  little  gate,  and 
walked  up  the  path.  The  dog  looked  askance 
at  her,  and  crowded  closer  to  Sylvia,  keeping  a 
watchful  eye,  however,  on  what  he  believed  to  be 
an  intruder. 

"  Who  was  that  man,  Sylvia?  " 

A  low  soft  laugh  greeted  the  questioner. 
"  He  introduced  himself,"  she  said,  "  and  he  told 
me  that  he  was  Squire  Elmore,  and  by  his  manner, 
Aunt  Zilla,  you  and  I  are  to  consider  ourselves 
greatly  honored  in  receiving  a  neighborly  call  from 
him." 

"  Call?  Why  he  was  on  his  horse  and  outside 
the  fence,  Sylvia." 

"  Well,  that  wasn't  his  fault.  I  didn't  invite 
him  in." 

'  Yer  Aunt  Daphne  Van  Horn  would  be  hor- 
rified if  she  see  a  fat,  elderly  man  what  had  never 
been  introduced,  a-talkin'  ter  ye  as  if  he'd  been 
'quainted  some  time." 

"  Has  any  one,  a  stranger  to  you,  Aunt  Zilla, 
talked  to  you,  without  having  been  properly  pre- 
sented, since  you  started  for  the  store?" 


A  CALLER  AT  "THE  BIRCHES"     59 

The  woman's  stern  face  relaxed  and  she  smiled 
grimly. 

"  I  guess  'twon't  be  any  use  to  look  fer  formal- 
ity here,"  she  said,  "  fer  I  hadn't  gone  far  when 
the  queerest  rascal  I  ever  see  started  runnin'  the 
place  down,  an'  I  agreed  with  him,  and  'fore  I 
knew  it,  I  vow,  I  was  talkin'  with  him ;  and  Sylvia, 
the  cur'osity  here  is  something  jist  awful!  They 
ask  the  fust  question  that  comes  ter  them,  but  say ! 
Does  that  dog  b'long  to  him?  " 

Aunt  Zilla  did  not  say  who,  but  instead,  pointed 
down  the  road,  where  the  Squire  and  his  horse 
had  disappeared. 

"  No,  no!  "  cried  Sylvia.  "  He's  mine;  aren't 
you,  Laddie?  And  with  him  in  the  house,  we'll 
not  be  afraid." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  sure,"  was  the  reply.  "  He 
acts  's  if  he  was  afraid  of  me,  an'  if  that's  so, 
what  would  he  do  with  a  full-sized  tramp?  " 

"  Show  his  teeth,  and  growl,  of  course.  He 
isn't  afraid  of  you,  for  he's  no  coward,  are  you, 
Laddie?" 

He  looked  his  devotion. 

'  Well,  he  is  a  fine-lookin'  critter,  I  will  say," 
Aunt  Zilla  said.  "Say,  young  feller!  Are  ye 
goin'  ter  be  friends  with  me?  " 

She  extended  her  hand  and  Laddie  promptly 


60          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

laid  his  paw  in  it,  looking  up  at  her  for  approval. 

"  Wall,  'f  I  ever  see  the  beat  o'  that!  "  Aunt 
Zilla  exclaimed,  and  when  she  heard  his  story,  she 
at  once  decided  that  it  must  have  been  luck  that 
brought  him. 

"  When  I  fust  see  him  beside  ye,  I  didn't  know 
he  had  a  name,  and  I  was  thinkin'  I'd  call  him, 
1  Calamity,'  but  I  do'no'  but  '  Windfall '  would  fit 
better,"  she  said. 

"  His  name  is  '  Laddie,'  and  Laddie  he'll  be," 
Sylvia  said,  leaning  to  lay  her  cheek  against  the 
dog's  head. 

It  proved  to  be  a  day  of  happenings.  Later  in 
the  afternoon,  the  grocer's  boy  appeared  with  the 
articles  that  Aunt  Zilla  had  purchased  and  two 
letters  for  Sylvia.  As  they  lay  upon  the  table, 
where  the  boy  had  dropped  them,  only  one  had 
the  address  side  up.  The  writing  was  familiar; 
yet,  for  the  moment  she  could  not  say  whose  it 
might  be.  She  opened  it,  and  read: 

"  DEAR  SYLVIA: 

"  All  the  girls  miss  you,  but  I  most  of  all. 

"  You  can't  think  what  a  time  I  had  trying  to 
obtain  your  address  that  I  might  write  to  you. 

"  After  asking  every  one  else,  I  thought  of  Jack 
Stanwood,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  tell  me  where 
to  address  you,  and  he  did.  He  looked  rather 
glum. 


A  CALLER  AT  "THE  BIRCHES"     61 

"You  and  Jack  were  firm  friends,  I  thought; 
yes,  even  more  than  friends,  but  really  I  don't  tell 
you  to  annoy  you,  but  because  it  may  be  that  you 
ought  to  know,  that  Jack  is  consoling  himself  for 
your  absence  by  being  friendly  with  some  of  the 
girls,  Fannie  Ardmore  in  particular,  whom  he 
never  before  cared  to  notice.  Why  did  you  leave 
the  city  in  such  haste?  Really,  you  set  us  won- 
dering, and  your  aunt,  Mrs.  Van  Horn,  simply 
freezes  any  unlucky  wight  who  is  so  unwise  as  to 
inquire  for  you. 

"  I  never  noticed  before  what  a  handsome  fel- 
low Jack  is.  Last  night  at  Mrs.  Farrington's  re- 
ception he  looked  especially  fine,  as  he  stood  talk- 
ing with  Fannie. 

"  He  is  so  strikingly  dark,  and  she  is  so  pale  a 
blonde.  Of  course,  we  all  admit  her  to  be  a  silly 
little  thing,  but  she  knows  how  to  dress  effectively; 
and  if  she  can't  talk  brightly,  she  leaves  all  the 
more  spaces  in  the  conversation  for  the  man  who 
can,  and  possibly  that  is  her  strong  point. 

'  I  suppose  Jack  finds  time  to  travel  to  the  se- 
cluded spot  where  you  are  staying,   doesn't  he? 

"  It  is  said  that  he  disappears  every  Saturday 
morning,  not  re-appearing  until  Monday.  If  he 
isn't  with  you,  where  is  he?  An  old  aunt  keeps 
house  for  you,  one  of  the  girls  told  me.  How 
really  quaint!  Isn't  it  dull? 

'  Do  write,  and  tell  me  how  you  like  rusticat- 

inS-  "  Lovingly, 

"  IRMA  DELWIN. 

"  P.  S. —  I'd  simply  love  to  come  and  see  you, 
but  I  was  not  invited  in  your  farewell  note. 

"  I.  D." 


62      A  CALLER  AT  "THE  BIRCHES" 

Sylvia's  cheeks  were  burning  when  she  had  fin- 
ished reading  the  letter,  and  without  so  much  as 
a  glance  at  the  second  letter,  she  slipped  the  two 
into  the  velvet  bag  that  hung  from  her  belt. 
Pleading  a  headache,  she  went  up  to  her  room, 
Laddie  at  her  heels.  She  did  not  take  the  letter 
from  the  bag,  but  sat  down  in  the  low,  reed 
chair  by  the  window,  and  when  twilight  came,  it 
found  her  still  sitting  thus,  the  light  breeze  blow- 
ing the  curling  bits  of  hair  back  from  her  flushed 
face,  while  Laddie,  from  his  place  on  the  rug  be- 
side her,  watched  her,  as  if  wondering  at  her  si- 
lence. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FROM  A  MAN'S  VIEW-POINT 

THE  sun  was  lower  now.     Trees  at  a  dis- 
tance were  enveloped  in  a  soft  lilac  haze. 
Twilight,  with  its  neutral  tints,  would  soon 
make  even  near  objects  indistinct. 

Laddie  softly  tapped  the  floor  with  the  tip  of 
his  tail,  a  mute  hint  that  he  would  like  to  be  no- 
ticed. Still  the  girl  sat  thinking,  thinking.  Why 
had  that  letter  come  to  disturb  her?  The  writer 
had  never  been  more  than  a  casual  acquaintance. 
Why  had  she  cared  to  write,  when  so  much  effort 
was  necessary  to  secure  the  address? 

Plainly  the  letter  was  written  to  cause  uneasi- 
ness, but  why?  Why  should  Irma  Delwin  be 
eager  to  communicate  with  her,  or  to  hint  that  it 
would  give  her  pleasure  to  call?  One  does  not 
take  an  all-day  journey  to  make  a  call  unless  some 
especial  object  impels  her  to  use  so  much  time 
and  effort.  It  was  the  more  surprising  in  Irma's 
case,  as  she  was  noted  for  her  aversion  to  effort  in 
any  direction. 

63 


64          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

The  breeze  that  stirred  the  curtains  was  cooler 
now.  Sylvia  shivered,  and  picking  up  the  scarf 
that  lay  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  drew  it  about 
her  shoulders. 

"  Sylvia !  Sylvia !  Are  you  coming  down 
soon?  Tea  is  ready  now." 

The  girl  longed  to  say  that  she  was  not  hungry, 
and  that  she  would  remain  where  she  was,  but  she 
knew  that  immediately  Aunt  Zilla  would  rush  up- 
stairs to  learn  if  she  were  ill;  so  she  arose  and 
crossed  the  room  to  the  hall,  saying:  "I'm  com- 
ing," with  the  hope  of  allaying  curiosity. 

She  took  her  place  at  the  table,  just  as  Aunt 
Zilla  came  in  from  the  kitchen. 

Laddie  had  dropped  upon  the  floor  close  be- 
side Sylvia's  chair.  She  had  spoken  the  first  word 
of  welcome  since  his  master  had  cast  him  off,  and 
evidently,  in  his  faithful  heart,  he  had  vowed  to 
be  her  friend  and  protector. 

Aunt  Zilla  sat  down,  and  commenced  to  pour 
the  tea. 

4  There's  a  long  distance  between  this  house  and 
the  next  one,"  she  remarked.  "  This  road  on 
the  left  leads  right  into  the  woods,,  an'  the  one  at 
the  right  is  the  one  I  took  to  the  store ;  and  the 
house  I  was  speakin'  of  is  a  big  farmhouse.  A 
little  old  man  named  Wiley  owns  it.  I  found  out 


FROM  A  MAN'S  VIEW-POINT     65 

that  much,  an'  I  guess  'twas  him  I  see  settin'  on 
the  porch  as  I  went  by,  but  I, —  Why,  Sylvia ! 
I  hadn't  noticed  how  pale  ye  look.  Is  yer  head 
still  achin'?" 

'  Yes,"  Sylvia  said  in  a  strange  voice. 

"  Wasn't  anything  in  the  letter  ter  upset  ye,  was 
there?" 

'  The  letter  was  from  no  one  of  any  impor- 
tance," was  the  truthful  reply,  but  Aunt  Zilla  was 
not  wholly  satisfied. 

'  Ye  didn't  say  ye  felt  sick  until  that  youngster 
brung  the  letter.  Brought  two,  didn't  he?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  haven't  opened  the  second  yet. 
My  head  ached  so  that  I  did  not  feel  like  reading 
it.  It  is  doubtless  as  unimportant  as  the  one  I  did 
read." 

"  I'll  read  it  aloud  to  ye,  if  ye  want  I  should," 
was  the  eager  offer. 

"  Oh,  there's  no  hurry  about  it." 

"Who's  it  from?" 

"  I  don't  know.  I  said  I'd  not  read  it,"  Sylvia 
replied  with  a  shade  of  annoyance. 

"  Didn't  know  but  ye  knew  the  handwritin'," 
was  the  next  venture. 

"  I've  not  so  much  as  glanced  at  the  envelope 
yet." 

Aunt  Zilla  decided  that  Sylvia  possessed  no  curi- 


66          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

osity;  while  in  return,  the  girl  was  firmly  con- 
vinced that  the  inquisitivenesss  of  the  locality  was 
not  the  exclusive  possession  of  those  outside  the 
old  house. 

The  meal  was  a  silent  one.  Occasionally  Lad- 
die whined  for  a  tempting  morsel,  which  each  time 
he  received,  although  Aunt  Zilla  remarked  that 
animals  should  never  be  fed  in  the  dining-room. 

Sylvia  waited  until  the  dog  had  devoured  a 
hearty  meal  served  in  a  tin  pan  in  the  kitchen. 
Little  cared  Laddie  how  or  where  it  was  served, 
and  he  ate  with  gusto.  Quantity,  not  quality  was 
his  motto. 

"  Ye  ought  ter  go  to  bed  early,"  Aunt  Zilla 
advised;  "  fer  really,  Sylvia,  ye  do  look  awful. 
Like  'nough  ye'll  feel  better  after  a  good  night's 
rest." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  the  girl  said  gently, 
grateful  that  the  way  of  escape  had  been  made  so 
easy  for  her.  After  all,  the  questioning  if  rather 
annoying,  had  been  prompted  by  interest  rather 
than  curiosity. 

A  creaking,  groaning  sound  made  Aunt  Zilla 
start. 

'  There !  That's  the  worst  noise  of  all  that 
I  hear  in  this  house,"  she  said,  to  which  Sylvia  re- 
plied : 


FROM  A  MAN'S  VIEW-POINT     67 

"  But  one  that  I  learned  the  explanation  of  to- 
day. There  is  an  old  hanging  sign  on  that  side 
of  the  house,  just  under  my  chamber  window,  that 
bears  the  legend:  '  Sign  of  The  Three  Birches.' 
It  is  rusty  and  creaks  as  the  wind  moves  it.  It 
hangs  above  the  door  on  that  side  of  the  house 
that  is  closed  up.  You  know  that  that  door  is 
nailed,  as  well  as  bolted,  and  the  shutters  over  the 
windows  are  as  securely  fastened." 

"  I  know  it,  an'  it  fairly  gives  me  the  fidgits!  " 
declared  Aunt  Zilla,  "  fer  I'm  all  the  time  won- 
d'rin'  what's  in  there,  an'  never  darin'  to  try  to 
find  out." 

"  It  will  be  opened  some  day,"  Sylvia  said,  as 
she  moved  toward  the  door. 

"  Good  night." 

"  Good  night,"  was  the  reply  uttered  aloud,  but 
to  herself  the  older  woman  whispered:  "If  I 
know  myself,  there'll  be  a  able-bodied  man  here 
to  open  that  closed  door,  an'  take  the  fust  look 
for  us!" 

The  dog  raced  up  the  stairway  ahead  of  the 
girl,  and  pushed  wide  the  door  that  she  had  left 
ajar.  He  was  eager  to  show  that  he  knew  which 
room  hers  was,  and  that  he  was  glad  to  stay  with 
her. 

1  You're  a  comfort,  Laddie,"  she  said,  as  she 


68          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

drew  down  the  shade,  and  lighted  the  candle,  re- 
solved to  read  the  second  letter. 

Believing  it  to  be  a  similar  one,  from  some  other 
girl,  doubtless  an  alleged  friend,  who  had  some- 
thing disturbing  to  communicate,  she  drew  it  forth, 
and  tore  open  the  envelope  without  looking  at  its 
address. 

The  first  glance  at  the  letter  showed  Jack's 
familiar  writing.  No  need  to  look  for  his  name. 

"  DEAR  SYLVIA  : 

"  I  know  I  should  not  write,  but  I  will. 

"  You  asked  me  neither  to  come  nor  write,  un- 
less I  could  promise  to  refrain  from  urging  you  to 
give  up  this  wild  '  stunt '  that  you  have  set  your 
heart  upon  doing.  I  did  not  promise,  because  I 
could  not. 

"  See  what  you  are  doing,  Sylvia.  You  are 
making  two  people,  yourself  and  me  —  not  to 
speak  of  a  third,  your  Aunt  Zilla  —  absolutely 
wretched. 

"  What  do  you  think  the  city  is  like  with  you 
away,  and  what  can  that  God-forsaken  old  place 
seem  like  to  a  girl  like  you,  Sylvia,  used  to  all  that 
is  cheerful  and  bright?  I  have  never  met  your 
aunt  who  is  with  you,  but  unless  she  is  a  most 
singular  woman,  she  must  be  sick  of  it  already. 

"  Sylvia,  because  you  started  to  do  this  thing, 
you  do  not  have  to  keep  it  up.  I'm  enough  of 
an  egotist  to  think  you  miss  me,  and  I've  taken  my 
courage  in  my  hands,  and  said  it,  but  I  am  con- 
siderably humbled  in  one  respect. 


FROM  A  MAN'S  VIEW-POINT     69 

"  I  would  have  said  that  your  love  for  me  was 
sufficiently  strong  to  make  you  shut  your  eyes  to 
the  lure  of  money,  and  cleave  to  me,  but  you  have 
proven  that  to  be  a  wrong  estimate,  for  you  have 
chosen  to  be  apart  from  me  for  a  '  year  and  a 
day  '  in  the  sole  interest  of  winning  a  small  legacy. 

"  Sylvia  mine,  forgive  me  if  that  sounds  harsh. 
I  am  sorely  hurt  by  your  persisting  in  doing  this 
thing  that  I  begged  you  not  to  do.  Write,  relent- 
ing in  so  far  as  to  promise  that  you'll  let  me  come, 
and  that  when  I  come,  you'll  tell  me  you  have  de- 
cided to  let  the  wretched  legacy  go  to  charity  if  it 
must,  and  be  content  with  what  I  have  to  offer 
you,  a  comfortable  if  not  an  imposing  home,  and 
my  faithful  love  that  you  already  possess. 

"  Truly  yours, 

"  JACK. 

"  P.  S. —  Sylvia,  I'm  fearfully  sick  of  the  the- 
aters and  the  club,  and,  at  this  season,  what  else 
is  there  with  which  to  annihilate  time?  Write  at 
once,  do. 

"J.  S." 

The  letter  was  like  Jack  himself:  straightfor- 
ward, manly  in  its  statements,  boyish  in  the  fretful 
postscript.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  written  the  let- 
ter straight  from  his  heart,  and  had  signed  his 
name,  then,  like  a  big  boy,  had  told  of  his  lack 
of  interest  in  amusements  as  an  added  plea  that 
she  consider  his  loneliness. 

Sylvia  read,  and  reread  the  letter.  She  would 
wait  until  morning  to  write,  she  thought. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WAVERING 

SYLVIA  awoke  with  a  sense  of  depression  — 
of  something  that,  on  the  day  before,  had 
been  disquieting. 

Oh,  now  she  remembered ! 

It  was  the  letters :  the  first,  designedly  annoy- 
ing; the  second,  —  what  could  she  say  of  Jack's 
letter?  Frankly  it  avowed  the  sincerity  of  his 
love  for  her,  and  urged  her  to  relinquish  her  self- 
imposed  task  of  winning  the  legacy,  and  to  come 
to  him,  empty-handed,  or  nearly  so,  her  wee  in- 
heritance being  so  small  as  to  afford  but  simple 
living  at  the  old  house,  which,  in  accordance  with 
the  terms  of  the  will,  was  rent-free.  But  pride 
had  urged  her  to  the  task  that  she  might  bring 
him  a  bit  of  fortune,  and  thus  refute  Aunt 
Daphne's  statement  that  she  would  be  a  burden  to 
a  poor  man. 

Jack  did  not  know  that. 

Then  Irma's  letter  telling  of  his  conspicuous 
attention  to  Fannie  Ardmore  recurred  to  her,  and 
the  hot  color  burned  in  her  cheek.  No  sooner  did 

70 


WAVERING  71 

she  determine  not  to  believe  a  word  of  the  story, 
than  a  part  of  Irma's  letter,  with  irritating  dis- 
tinctness, flitted  through  her  mind.  "  He  disap- 
pears every  Sunday  morning,  not  reappearing 
until  Monday.  If  he  isn't  with  you,  where  is 
he?" 

"  I  will  not  be  prejudiced  against  Jack,"  she 
whispered,  and  even  as  she  said  it,  she  glanced  at 
his  open  letter,  her  eyes  at  once  resting  upon  the 
postscript.  Again  and  again  she  read  it. 

"  Sylvia,  I  am  fearfully  sick  of  the  theaters  and 
the  club;  and  at  this  season  what  else  is  there  with 
which  to  annihilate  time  ?  " 

Sylvia  would  not  have  admitted  that  such  an 
idea  could  occur  to  her,  yet  unhappily  she  thought 
of  the  fact  that  the  Ardmore's  summer  residence 
was  an  enchanting  place,  and  that  week-end  house 
parties  were  the  rule  on  the  Ardmore  program. 
If,  because  he  was  dull  and  lonely,  Jack  accepted 
their  invitations,  why  was  he  silent  regarding 
them?  Had  he  deliberately  mentioned  the  the- 
aters and  the  club  to  convey  the  impression  that 
he  went  nowhere  else  for  amusement?  She  sat 
down  at  the  little  table,  and  wrote  a  brief  note,  ex- 
pressing her  unchanged  determination  to  carry 
out,  to  the  letter,  the  terms  of  the  will. 


72          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

The  morning  was  hot  and  sunny,  and  Sylvia 
walked  slowly  along,  her  parasol  screening  her 
from  the  hot  rays,  the  letter  safe  in  the  quaint  bag 
that  hung  from  her  wrist.  She  had  expected  re- 
monstrance from  Aunt  Zilla,  coupled  with  an  en- 
thusiastic offer  to  mail  the  letter  for  her,  that 
thus  might  the  address  be  read  on  the  way,  and 
the  name  of  the  intended  recipient  learned  with- 
out asking.  It  happened,  however,  that  there  was 
cooking,  and  other  work  to  be  done,  and  beyond 
remarking  that  it  must  be  an  urgent  letter  that 
positively  must  be  posted,  even  although  the  day 
had  started  as  if  designed  to  be  a  "  scorcher,"  she 
let  Sylvia  depart  without  making  any  further  com- 
ment. 

The  dog  stalked  along  beside  her,  caring  little 
where  he  went  so  long  as  he  might  be  her  compan- 
ion. He  followed  his  usual  habit  of  looking  up 
at  her  occasionally  as  if  asking  for  approval;  but 
she  was  so  closely  occupied  with  the  thoughts  that 
troubled  her,  so  lonely  knowing  that  Jack  would 
never  come  in  for  an  evening  with  her,  at  least 
not  for  a  whole,  long  year,  and  then  — . 

What  if  he  became  estranged  because  of  the 
long  waiting  that  she  had  herself  imposed?  She 
wished  that  with  the  mailing  of  the  letter  her  un- 
easy thoughts  might  vanish. 


WAVERING  73 

Vaguely  she  saw  the  butterflies  flitting  over  the 
wall,  and  she  wished  that  her  heart  was  as  light  as 
theirs.  How  gayly  their  fluttering  wings  bore 
them  upward  in  the  sunlight,  as  if  Hope  itself  were 
their  propelling  power ! 

Hope  ?  It  had  been  the  basis  of  her  happiness, 
when  all  the  world  seemed  smiling. 

So  brief  a  time,  and  all  things  so  changed! 

Aunt  Daphne's  home  no  longer  hers  also,  be- 
cause she  had  refused  to  agree  to  marry  a  man  that 
she  abhorred.  Now,  with  all  her  love  held  stead- 
fastly in  Jack's  keeping,  she  was  apart  from  him, 
appearing  in  his  eyes  to  be  grasping  for  money, 
as  if  life  with  him,  minus  money,  were  not  to  be 
thought  of! 

To  make  matters  even  worse,  how  was  one  to 
forget  that  letter  that  Irma  had  written,  or  for 
that  matter,  could  any  girl  fail  to  notice  that 
Jack  had  taken  care  not  to  speak  of  the  Ard- 
mores? 

"  It  is  hard  enough  to  endure  a  year  and  a  day 
at  the  old  house,  without  distracting  thoughts  to 
keep  me  company,"  she  said,  half  aloud. 

Laddie  whimp-ered  a  sympahetic  reply,  and  she 
soothed  him  with  a  pat. 

'  You  are  a  bit  of  a  comfort,"  she  said. 

She  was  nearing  the  white   farm   house  that 


74  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Aunt  Zilla  had  spoken  of  as  belonging  to  a  little 
old  man  named  Wiley.  Everything  about  the 
place  bespoke  content,  from  the  house  itself  down 
to  the  luxuriant  hollyhocks  near  the  road.  Rose- 
tinted,  yellow  and  white,  they  gleamed  in  the  sun- 
light and  rustled  in  the  hot  breeze. 

Sylvia  paused  to  admire  them,  never  dreaming 
that  a  pair  of  kindly  old  eyes  had  been  watching 
her  approach. 

"  Pooty,  ain't  they?  "  questioned  a  gentle  voice. 
'  They  are  beautiful,"  Sylvia  replied,  a  smile 
parting  her  lips,  as  she  tried  to  discover  the 
speaker. 

Sylvia  was  very  winning  when  she  smiled,  and 
the  little  old  man  came  forward. 

His  small,  fine  features,  his  crown  of  thin,  sil- 
very hair,  and  his  slender  frame  gave  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  frail,  so  that  strangers  were  apt 
to  inquire  for  his  health,  whereat  he  invariably 
replied:  "My  health's  all  right,  thank  ye,  an' 
so  be  I." 

"  Come  in  an'  rest  a  spell,  'fore  ye  go  on  ter 
the  store.  Come  set  in  the  shade  o'  my  holly- 
hocks. I'd  be  so  pleased  ter  hev  ye,"  he  said  to 
the  girl  who  stood  admiring  them. 

Sylvia  could  not  refuse  his  .gentle  courtesy. 
Flushed  and  tired  she  was,  although  hardly  half 


WAVERING  75 

way  there,  and  the  flag-seated  chair  in  the  cool 
shade  looked  inviting. 

'  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said  as  she  sat  down, 
"  It  is  a  long  walk  to  the  store,  and  back." 

He  looked  at  her  with  mildly  approving  eyes. 

'We  lost  our  daughter,"  he  said,  a  tear  dim- 
ming his  blue  eyes,  "  an'  ever  since  I've  longed 
ter  see  a  young  gal  movin'  about  the  place." 

He  blinked,  and  a  smile  bravely  replaced  the 
tear. 

"  I'd  be  pleased  if  ye  always  stopped  here  a 
spell  on  the  way  ter  the  store  an'  back,"  he  said, 
wistfully. 

"  I'd  love  to,"  Sylvia  said,  grateful  for  his  gen- 
tle friendliness,  "  and  I  will." 

"  Sort  o'  lonesome  a.t  '  The  Three  Birches,' 
ain't  it?  "  he  asked. 

;<  Indeed  it  is,"  Sylvia  replied,  in  a  manner  that 
spoke  volumes. 

'  Then,  whenever  it  gets  ter  be  jest  too  lone- 
some ter  be  borne,  come  over  here.  I'm  Ezry 
Wiley,  an'  my  wife,  Temp'rance,  will  be  turr'ble 
pleased  ter  see  ye." 

Sylvia  was  surprised  at  the  eagerness  with  which 
she  accepted  his  invitation.  It  offered  an  oppor- 
tunity for  an  occasional  escape  from  the  gloom  of 
the  Durant  house.  She  looked  toward  the  holly- 


76  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

hocks  that  were  yielding  their  sweets  to  the  ma- 
rauding bees. 

"  Funny  fellers,  them,"  remarked  Ezra,  "  an' 
dreadful  human,  too.  Got  all  they  kin  hold,  yet 
scrambl'in'  fer  more.  Go  it !  "  he  continued,  as 
a  huge  bee  dived  deep  into  a  pink  blossom.  "  I 
like  ter  see  a  feller  persist  ef  he  wants  ter  git  a 
thing;  tho'  I  must  say  I  think  ye  graspin'." 

A  big  brindle  cat  lay  asleep  on  the  grass,  close 
beside  his  chair,  and  the  little  old  man  reached  a 
slender  hand  to  stroke  the  soft  fur.  The  cat 
awoke,  and  as  a  bee  flew  humming  by,  stretched 
a  tawney  paw  to  strike  at  it. 

"  Tom!  Tom!  "  cried  Ezra,  "  would  ye  med- 
dle with  a  critter  what  wasn't  meddlin'  with  ye? 
Last  time  ye  fooled  with  a  striped  bee,  he  stung 
yer  nose  fer  yer  imperdence.  Don't  ye  remem- 
ber?" 

Tom  arose,  and  rubbed  against  the  old  man's 
legs. 

"  Ah,  he  remembers,  an'  well  he  may,  bein's  he 
couldn't  see  'round  his  nose  fer  nigh  onter  three 
weeks.  Let  'em  'lone,  Tom.  It's  a  awful  good 
plan  ter  tend  ter  yer  own  affairs,  an'  let  other  folks 
alone." 

Espying  the  dog,  Tom  turned  "and  ran  up  to  the 
house,  although  Laddie  had  only  watched  him 


WAVERING  77 

curiously,  making  no  effort  to  molest  him.  Sylvia 
noticed  that  while  the  kindly  old  fellow  expressed 
a  gentle  interest  in  her,  he  showed  none  of  the 
curiosity  of  his  neighbors,  and  that  he  made  no 
effort  to  question  her  regarding  her  stay  at  the  old 
house,  or  her  life  previous  to  her  arrival  at  Blos- 
somville.  After  a  pleasant  chat,  she  went  on  to 
mail  her  letter,  having  promised  to  stop  for  an- 
other rest  on  her  way  back. 

The  "  post-office  "  was  situated  in  one  corner 
of  the  grocery  store.  Having  been  stared  at  by 
the  half-dozen  loungers  who  spent  the  greater  part 
of  every  day  there,  she  slipped  her  letter  into  the 
box,  answered  several  questions  which  were  pro- 
pounded by  Nat  Gates,  with  a  view  to  keeping  her 
in  a  good  position  for  his  cronies  to  observe  her, 
and  then  she  started  to  return. 

"  Han'some  as  a  pictur,  I  declare !  "  said  one. 

"  Sweetest  face  I  ever  see!  "  said  another. 

"Carried  her  head  like  a  thoro'bred!"  re- 
marked a  third. 

:<  Don't  look  much  like  old  Sylvia  Durant,  what 
used  ter  live  at  that  old  house  with  the  flatiron- 
shaped  garding.  Lor'  but  she  was  a  case !  Say, 
they  is  noises  in  that  'ere  old  rookery  that  jest 
make  you  flesh  crawl.  I'd  hate  ter  hev  that  gal 
scaret,"  said  another. 


78  THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Oh,  she's  got  a  ol'  aunt  livin'  with  her  that  has 
got  a  powerful  lot  o'  grit.  Noises  wouldn't  scare 
her,  an'  as  fer  ghosts,  if  they  is  any  that  old 
woman  would  stand  ready  ter  whack  'em  with  her 
ambrill,  you  bet!  " 

Unaware  of  the  interest  that  she  had  created, 
Sylvia  walked  along  the  road,  a  bit  calmer  since 
the  letter  to  Jack  was  mailed.  She  had  wavered 
while  yet  it  was  in  her  possession,  wondering  if 
it  might  have  been  differently  worded.  She  did 
not  wish  to  retract.  She  was  firm  in  her  resolve 
to  remain  at  the  old  house  for  the  specified  time, 
and  equally  firm  in  her  belief  that  she  could  not 
persist,  if  Jack  were  to  come  often  to  plead  with 
her  to  relinquish  her  purpose,  but  she  wondered  if 
she  might  have  expressed  her  statements  more 
tactfully.  Had  she  seemed  hard? 

"  Nonsense!  "  she  murmured,  putting  her  right 
foot  down  with  a  firmer  tread.  "  If  I  had  writ- 
ten less  sternly,  Jack  would  have  seen  weakening 
in  the  lines,  and  would  have  rushed  here,  simply 
to  coax  and  plead.  It  was  best  to  mail  the  letter, 
just  as  I  wrote  it." 


CHAPTER  IX 

CONFIDENCES 

NO  one  ever  spoke  of  the  owner  of  the  best 
farm  in  Blossomville  as  Mr.  Wiley,  nor  as 
Ezra  Wiley. 

Gentle  and  kindly  he  was  beloved  by  all,  and 
he  had  a  cheery  word  for  everyone  whom  he 
met,  from  the  oldest  inhabitant  to  the  latest  ar- 
rival. "  Ezry,"  they  called  him,  and  he  merited 
their  regard. 

'  The  meanest  man  in  the  world  has  likely  got 
a  good  streak  somewhere;  "  he  was  wont  to  say, 
"  an'  I'd  'nough  rather  be  lookin'  fer  it,  than 
pickin'  flaws." 

The  village  children  often  paused  in  their  play 
to  say:  "  Let's  go  over  to  Ezry's  and  p'raps  he'll 
tell  us  a  story."  And  they  were  always  given  a 
glad  welcome,  and  the  story  was  always  told. 
Ezra  enjoyed  relating,  for  their  delight,  the  hap- 
penings of  his  youth. 

The  little  old  man  was  eagerly  looking  for 
79 


8o          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Sylvia's  return,  and  his  twinkling  eyes  looked  up 
brightly  as  she  opened  the  gate,  and  entered. 

"  I  remembered  your  invitation,  and  I've  come 
in  to  rest  a  bit,  before  going  home." 

Home!  The  word  had  been  thoughtlessly  ut- 
tered, but  it  sent  a  sudden  pang  through  her  heart, 
for  suddenly,  and  with  fearful  force,  she  realized 
that  she  had  no  home !  Surely  the  fact  held  no 
novelty,  but  for  some  reason  it  presented  itself 
in  a  new  light,  and  that  light  was  glaring!  Sylvia 
never  knew  how  it  happened,  or  how  the  subject 
had  been  introduced.  She  only  knew  that  Ezra 
Wiley  had  not  questioned  her,  and  that  it  must 
have  been  his  gentleness  that  had  led  her  to  talk 
of  herself.  However  that  may  be,  before  she 
left  him,  she  had  told  him  that  she  did  not  remem- 
ber her  parents;  that  she  had  always  lived  with 
her  Aunt  Daphne  in  the  city,  where  now,  because 
of  a  difference  of  opinion  regarding  what  was 
best  for  her  happiness,  she  could  no  longer  live. 
Even  then  he  had  not  questioned  what  that  "  dif- 
ference of  opinion  "  might  be.  Instead,  he  re- 
peated his  wish  that  she  might  often  stop  for  a 
little  chat. 

"  Sometimes  it  does  young  folks  good  ter  talk 
their  troubles  over  with  some  one  older,  who  has 
seen  trouble,  an'  knows  what  'tis,"  he  said,  add- 


CONFIDENCES  81 

ing:  "  An'  when  ye  come,  if  ye  want  ter  tell  me 
what  vexes  ye,  girl,  why  tell  it.  An'  if  'twill  do 
ye  more  good  ter  talk  of  other  things,  then  we'll 
do  that." 

Sylvia  was  grateful  for  his  unselfish  interest 
and  his  lack  of  curiosity,  and  she  thanked  him 
warmly. 

For  a  moment  both  were  silent. 

The  sunlight  touched  the  girl's  bright  hair,  giv- 
ing the  light  brown  waves  a  warmer  tint;  and  the 
old  man  gazed  at  her,  marvelling  that  she  was  so 
fair.  The  hollyhocks  rustled  in  the  breeze;  the 
bees,  still  busy,  made  droning  music;  all  things 
seemed  peaceful,  and  drowsy.  Suddenly  a  stri- 
dent voice  broke  the  silence. 

"  Ezry!  Ezry!  Where  be  ye?  Land  sakes, 
but  I'm  in  a  hurry  fer  'nother  pail  o'  water!  " 

"  I'm  comin',  —  and  so  ye  might  say  is  the 
water.  Leastways,  I've  begun  ter  go  fer  it,"  was 
the  answer,  the  last  half  of  which  was  hardly  above 
a  whisper,  and  accompanied  by  a  comical  pucker 
of  the  mouth  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  the  kind  old 
eyes. 

He  rose  stiffly,  and  smiled  as  he  said:  'Ye 
never  in  yer  life  see  such  a  woman  fer  water  I  No 
matter  whether  she's  washin',  scourin',  er  bakin', 
there's  a  continooal  call  fer  water!  Funny,  they 


82          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

named  her  '  Temp'rance.'  I'm  glad  they  did, 
tho',  fer  she's  a  master  hand  fer  water,  an'  I  do 
like  ter  see  names  fit  the  pussons  they're  tacked 
to." 

"Ezry!  Ef  ye're  still  after  that  water,  ye 
must  hev  gone  ter  the  bottom  er  the  well!  " 

"  I'll  be  there  in  a  jiffy,  Temp'rance,"  was  the 
pleasant  answer,  and  as  he  moved  toward  the  well, 
Tom  followed  at  his  heels. 

"  Don't  ye  hurry,  Miss  Sylvia,"  he  said,  "  I'll 
soon  be  back." 

Having  taken  the  brimming  pail  to  the  house,  he 
hastened  to  return  to  his  guest. 

"  Temp'rance  is  a  good  woman,  as  ye'll  find  out 
when  ye  know  her,"  he  remarked,  as  if  he  feared 
that  her  sharp  voice  might  have  prejudiced  the 
girl. 

"  She's  got  plenty  o'  energy,  an'  that's  one  thing 
fust  made  me  think  o'  marryin'  her.  She  had 
plenty  er  energy  —  an'  'tain't  none  of  it  abated, 
so  ter  speak." 

Sylvia  laughed  softly,  and  Ezra  laughed  with 
her. 

He  broke  his  finest  stalk  of  pink  hollyhocks, 
and  put  it  in  her  hand  when  she  rose  to  go. 

"  It  will  look  bright  in  the  old  house,  and  help 
ye  ter  remember  ter  come  often,"  he  said. 


CONFIDENCES  83 

"  Oh,  I  will,"  she  said  gratefully,  and  as  she 
walked  down  the  road,  she  turned  to  wave  her 
hand  to  the  kindly  old  fellow,  who  returned  the 
salute. 

"  Dretful  sweet  gal,"  he  said  to  the  cat  that  had 
sprung  up  on  the  wall  beside  him. 

Aunt  Zilla  was  at  the  gate  when  Sylvia  reached 
the  house. 

"  I've  been  worried,  ye  was  gone  so  long,"  she 
said.  "Where  hev  ye  been?  My!  Who  give 
ye  them  hollyhocks?" 

"  Our  nearest  neighbor,"  Sylvia  said.  "  The 
little  old  man  who  owns  the  white  farmhouse. 
He  invited  me  to  stop  and  rest  a  while,  and  I  was 
glad  to.  Oh,  but  the  sun  is  hot!  " 

"  Not  too  hot  to  go  neighboring  it  seems,  fer 
ye  hadn't  been  gone  ten  minutes  when  there  was 
a  awful  poundin'  at  the  side  door,  an'  when  I 
went  I  found  a  freckled-faced  youngster  with 
a  big  basket  of  early  vegetables.  I  says,  '  Run 
along,  sonny,  I  don't  want  ter  buy  anything.'  *  Ye 
don't  hev  ter!  '  he  said  pert  like;  '  I  was  told  ter 
give  these  ter  the  gal  what  lives  here.'  '  Who 
sent  'em  ?  '  says  I,  an'  sez  he :  'I  wa'n't  ter  tell !  ' 
an'  scooted  fer  the  woods.  Now,  what  d'ye 
make  er  that?  " 

"  We   certainly  have   well-disposed  neighbors, 


84          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

if  they  are  not  near  neighbors,"  Sylvia  said,  think- 
ing as  she  spoke  of  the  difference  between  city  and 
country  acquaintances. 

In  the  city  a  gift  of  vegetables  would  suggest 
charity,  and  give  offense,  whereas  in  the  country  it 
came  only  as  a  gift  assuring  friendly  feeling. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  one  thing,  Sylvia,  that  I  think 
'nough  sight  queerer  than  the  basket  full  er  garden 
truck  the  boy  left,  an'  that's  the  outrageous  noises 
ye  hear  in  this  house.  I've  heared  ye  tell  'bout 
the  old  sign  creakin',  an'  I  know  what  ye  said  'bout 
the  branches  er  that  big  tree  a  scrapin'  on  the 
roof  windy  nights,  but  this  is  a  new  noise,  an' 
Sylvia,  it  beats  all !  " 

The  girl  made  no  reply,  as  she  turned  to  enter 
the  house. 

"  I  do  wish  ye'd  pay  'tention  ter  what  I'm  tell- 
in'  ye.  The  noise  was,  —  There  !  Did  ye  hear 
that?  " 

Certainly  Sylvia  heard  it;  and  even  as  Aunt 
Zilla  spoke,  it  was  repeated,  like  the  groaning  of 
one  in  great  distress. 

Again  it  sounded,  and  Aunt  Zilla  screamed. 

"Hello!  What's  the  matter?"  a  bluff  voice 
inquired,  and  Squire  Elmore  appeared  in  the 
doorway.  He  had  been  passing  with  the  hope  of 


CONFIDENCES  85 

seeing  Sylvia,  and  at  the  same  time  wondering  if 
she  would  extend  a  welcome,  if  he  hinted  that  he 
would  like  to  come  in.  Hearing  Aunt  Zilla's 
scream,  he  had  entered,  and  now  was  in,  without 
the  need  of  hinting.  She  described  at  great  length 
the  sound  that  had  been  frequently  repeated  dur- 
ing the  morning;  and  if  she  had  been  the  sole  oc- 
cupant of  the  house,  he  would  have  assured  her 
that  ancient  dwellings  were  apt  to  harbor  all  man- 
ner of  weird  sounds,  and  have  gone  his  way. 
Now,  with  the  hope  of  often  seeing  Sylvia  Du- 
rant,  he  tried  to  allay  the  older  woman's  fears, 
and  promised  often  to  look  in,  as  he  was  passing, 
to  learn  if  all  was  well. 

At  the  same  time,  he  registered  a  vow  that  he 
would  continually  pass  that  house,  and  that  every 
time  he  passed  he  would  surely  stop  to  in- 
quire. Property  acquired  by  inheritance,  and  a 
limited  education  had  bred  in  Luke  Elmore  a  firm 
conviction  that  he  was  superior  to  his  neighbors, 
and  had  given  him  almost  an  insolent  confidence 
in  himself.  Therefore,  he  chose  to  ignore  Sylvia's 
evident  indifference,  believing  that  with  time,  and 
persistence,  he  would  surely  win  her.  Her  en- 
gagement to  Jack  had  been  secret,  and  no  ring 
upon  her  finger  gave  evidence  of  her  pledge. 


86          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Seeing  no  token  upon  the  white  hand,  Squire  El- 
more  considered  the  field  open,  and  he  determined 
to  waste  no  time. 

From  that  day  his  attentions  were  persistent  and 
untiring.  Sylvia  was  grateful  for  his  neighborly 
kindness,  but  she  could  not  dispel  a  desperate  long- 
ing to  evade  him. 

Aunt  Zilla  expressed  no  sympathy.  How 
could  she?  She  appreciated  the  huge  baskets  of 
fresh  vegetables,  of  early  fruits,  of  flowers  that 
she  daily  found  waiting,  dew-laden,  when  she 
opened  the  doors  in  the  morning,  and  surely  she 
was  thankful  to  have  him  appear,  as  he  often  did, 
just  as  some  unusual  noise  had  frightened  her. 

Sylvia  did  her  best  to  avoid  him,  and  often  suc- 
ceeded. With  her  heart  hungry  for  Jack,  how 
could  she  welcome  the  Squire,  stout,  florid,  and 
elderly?  She  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders  as 
she  thought  of  it. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN   THE    MIDST   OF   A   TEMPEST 

TEN  days  passed  —  two  weeks  —  then,  the 
third  week  since  she  had  mailed  her  letter 
to  Jack,  and  Sylvia  was  sick  at  heart  be- 
cause no  reply  came. 

True,  the  letter  had  invited  no  response.  It's 
tone  had  seemed  final.  Indeed,  she  had  so 
worded  it  that  it  might  appear  as  if  no  answer 
were  expected,  and  now,  woman  like,  she  was 
grieved  because  no  letter  came. 

She  had  slipped  out,  unnoticed  by  Aunt  Zilla, 
and  now  was  strolling  through  the  patch  of  wood- 
land, thinking  of  Jack  at  every  step.  There  was 
not  a  day  that  she  did  not  think  lovingly  of  him; 
but  on  this  day,  she  saw  his  face,  oh,  so  clearly  as 
she  wandered  on. 

She  dared  not  venture  far  into  the  woods,  but 
there  was  a  path  that  led  to  a  tiny  brook,  and  by 
keeping  to  that  path  she  could  not  lose  her  way. 
It  was  late  afternoon,  and  the  air  was  sultry. 

87 


88          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Here  and  there  a  white  birch  stood  out  sharply, 
but  the  somber  trees  harmonized  with  her  mood. 
The  birches  were  reminders  of  the  old  house  that 
had  been  named  for  a  clump  of  three  unusually 
large  specimens  that  stood  at  one  side  of  the  tri- 
angular piece  of  land,  jocosely  termed  a  garden. 
A  garden  it  had  sometime  been,  but  in  its  present 
state  a  "  riot "  would  have  better  described  the 
flowers  and  weeds  that  flourished  with  equal  zest. 
If  anything,  the  weeds  were  the  stronger. 

The  sky  was  overcast,  and  the  woods  seemed 
unusually  gloomy.  She  reached  the  little  babbling 
brook,  and  sat  down  upon  a  rock  beside  it,  listen- 
ing to  its  murmuring  music,  but  thinking  —  think- 
ing of  Jack. 

She  had  been  buoyed  up  in  setting  out  to  reach 
the  old  house  with  the  thought  that  at  least  she 
would  be  free  from  Aunt  Daphne's  alternate  coax- 
ing and  threatening  that  she  must  receive  with 
courtesy,  if  not  enthusiasm,  the  homage  of  the 
man  whom  she  abhorred.  In  that,  she  had  been 
successful;  but  in  her  belief  that  the  year  and  a 
day  would  pass  quickly,  and  with  the  flavor  of  ro- 
mance, she  had  failed  miserably. 

Denied  the  luxury,  the  pleasures,  to  which  she 
was  accustomed,  the  days  dragged  slowly,  and 
with  leaden  feet.  Now,  she  realized  that  whether 


IN  MIDST  OF  A  TEMPEST      89 

it  had  been  music,  dancing,  riding,  the  theater,  or 
receptions,  the  pleasure,  the  real,  deep  happiness 
had  been  that  Jack  was  at  her  elbow.  Without 
Jack  what  would  any  of  these  pleasures  have  held 
for  her?  That,  too,  was  the  most  desolate  fact 
about  the  old  home ;  Jack  was  not  there ! 

A  faint  sob,  symbol  of  her  bitter  loneliness, 
escaped  her  lips,  and  she  sat  erect,  looking  around 
as  if  fearing  that  some  one  might  have  heard. 
She  had  come  to  feel  as  if  at  any  moment,  wher- 
ever she  might  be,  Luke  Elmore  was  liable  to  ap- 
pear, and  the  feeling  strengthened  her  aversion. 
She  retraced  her  steps,  and  just  as  she  was  enter- 
ing the  side  gateway,  she  saw  him  standing  upon 
the  front  porch,  waiting  for  admittance. 

A  clump  of  tall  shrubs  concealed  her,  and  as 
soon  as  she  heard  the  front  door  opened  by  Aunt 
Zilla,  she  ran  into  the  house,  and  up  the  rear  stair- 
way. She  crept  along  the  upper  hall  to  her  room, 
and  listened. 

"  Sylvia  has  been  out  some  time,"  she  heard 
Aunt  Zilla  say.  '  I  didn't  notice  where  she  went, 
but  I've  been  up-stairs  ter  look  fer  her,  an'  didn't 
find  her,  so  I  know  she's  out." 

"  She  may  be  at  the  Wiley  place,"  the  Squire 
responded,  "  so  I'll  go  along.  I  may  see  her 
there." 


90          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

'  You  won't"  Sylvia  whispered,  delighted  that 
she  had  just  escaped  him. 

The  wind  was  rising,  driving  the  branches  of  the 
trees  against  the  house,  and  rattling  blinds  and 
windows.  Light  clouds  were  scudding  across  the 
sky,  but  back  of  those  loose  fleecy  clouds  were 
banks  of  leaden  color  that  foretold  a  tempest. 
The  chamber  was  growing  darker. 

Aunt  Zilla  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  she  heard 
her  say: 

"  Oh,  I  wish  Sylvia  was  safe  in  this  house." 

"  I  am,"  came  the  answer  to  her  wish,  and 
Sylvia  appeared  descending  the  stairs. 

"  For  goodness'  sake,  Sylvia !  You  in  the 
house  all  the  time,  an'  me  a  worryin'  fer  fear  ye'd 
be  drenched?  The  Squire  was  here  not  long  ago, 
an'  I  said  ye  was  out.  Was  ye  in  at  that  time  ?  " 

"Just  in,"  Sylvia  replied,  "  and  it  is  useless  to 
ask  why  I  didn't  come  down,  for  you  know  that 
I  remained  where  I  was  to  avoid  seeing  him." 

"  He's  got  means,"  Aunt  Zilla  said. 

"  Let  him  keep  them,"  Sylvia  replied. 
"  There's  only  one  that  I  care  for,  and  that  is  Jack 
Stanwood.  You  know  that,  so  what  is  the  use  of 
talking  of  Squire  Elmore's  good  points  or  of  his 
possessions  to  me?  I'm  not  interested,  and  I 
wish  he  could  understand  it." 


IN  MIDST  OF  A  TEMPEST      91 

"  Hev  ye  told  him  'bout  Jack?  Prob'ly  that 
might  help  him  some  ways  towards  understand- 
ing." 

"  I've  not  told  him  any  of  my  private  affairs, 
and  I  don't  wish  you  to,"  the  girl  said  hotly. 

Aunt  Zilla  was  about  to  reply,  when  a  terrific 
peal  of  thunder  caused  her  to  forget  what  she  had 
intended  to  say. 

Again  and  again  it  crashed,  the  great  drops 
dashed  against  the  window,  and  to  add  to  the  ter- 
rific din,  a  blind  blown  loose  from  its  fastening  was 
alternately  opened  by  the  gale,  and  then  flung  back 
against  the  window. 

Sylvia  covered  her  ears  to  shut  out  the  tumult, 
while  Aunt  Zilla,  her  hands  tightly  clasped,  looked 
as  if  she  believed  the  destruction  of  the  house  to 
be  imminent,  and  was  merely  waiting  for  the  struc- 
ture to  fall. 

The  gale  increased  in  fury,  and  the  sighing  of 
the  wind  through  the  forest  was  as  if  a  band  of 
demons,  out  in  search  of  human  victims,  were  ut- 
tering elfish  cries  as  they  sped  along.  The  great 
front  door  shook  as  the  wind  assailed  it,  and  Sylvia 
wondered  if  some  one,  determined  to  enter,  was 
fiercely  struggling  to  open  it,  despite  its  ponder- 
ous bolts. 

Small  wonder  that  the  two  were  terrified,  for 


92          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  lightning  was  almost  incessant;  and  in  their 
fear,  the  woman  and  the  girl  sat  silent,  wondering 
if  the  storm  would  ever  cease.  Somewhere  at  the 
rear  of  the  house  a  tree,  twisted  by  the  gale,  fell 
with  the  crash  of  splintering  wood. 

Sylvia  uttered  a  faint  cry  that  was  drowned  in  a 
heavy  clap  of  thunder.  Loose  twigs  were  flung 
against  the  house  as  violently  as  if  absolute  spite 
had  hurled  them. 

Then  for  a  moment  there  would  be  a  sudden 
stillness,  a  flash  of  lightning  would  make  every 
object  distinct,  and  then,  as  if  with  renewed  vigor, 
the  tumult  would  be  incessant,  and  louder  than  be- 
fore. The  old  house  rocked.  Something  out  in 
the  kitchen  fell  with  a  resounding  bang,  and  Aunt 
Zilla  felt  sure  that  the  range  must  have  actually 
collapsed. 

Then,  for  a  time,  the  wind  lulled,  and  only  the 
pattering  raindrops  could  be  heard,  first  as  if  they 
were  giant  drops  upon  the  window,  and  then,  as 
if  the  fury  of  the  storm  abating,  it  fell  more  softly 
like  a  shower.  For  a  brief  respite,  even  the  rain 
ceased,  and  in  the  momentary  lull  there  came  a 
loud,  determined  knock  at  the  door. 

Sylvia's  heart  stood  still;  she  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  leaned  staring  toward  the  door,  on  the  other 
side  of  which  was  some  one  who  had  knocked  for 


IN  MIDST  OF  A  TEMPEST      93 

admittance  !  Aunt  Zilla,  groping  in  the  darkness, 
laid  a  hand  upon  her  arm. 

'  What  shall  we  do  ? "  she  whispered,  but 
Sylvia's  lips  refused  to  utter  a  sound.  The  knock 
was  repeated.  After  a  pause  it  was  again  re- 
peated, this  time  with  more  vigor  than  before. 
Whoever  stood  outside  that  bolted  door  was  in- 
sistent. 

'*  It  may  be  some  tramp  that  wants  shelter  out'n 
the  storm,  but  I'm  afeared  of  him,"  whispered 
Aunt  Zilla  in  nothing  less  than  a  stage  whisper. 

Sylvia  made  no  reply.  She  was  thinking  that 
the  door  was  not  very  substantial.  Would  the  de- 
termined knocker  burst  it  open?  She  trembled 
in  sudden  panic  as  a  tremendous  pounding  made 
the  old  door  shake. 

Then  a  voice  called: 

"Sylvia!     Sylvia!" 

She  flew  to  push  back  the  bolt,  and  throw  wide 
the  door. 

"Oh,  Jack!  Jack!"  she  cried,  clinging  to 
him,  forgetting  that  his  coat  was  dripping;  never 
questioning  his  coming,  only  aware  that  he  had 
come,  and  that  with  him  beside  her,  her  terror 
had  vanished. 

It  was  Aunt  Zilla  that  awoke  them  to  a  sense 
of  present  conditions. 


94          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  I  s'pose  I'm  ter  call  this  young  man  '  Jack,' 
since  ye  don't  introduce  us,  an'  fer  that  matter,  he 
may  as  well  call  me  Aunt  Zilla,  'nstead  er  Mrs. 
Bond,  but  Sylvia,  d'ye  know  his  coat  is  consid'able 
wet?  Let  him  take  it  off,  an'  I'll  dry  it,  an'  get 
some  supper.  It's  likely  he's  hungry,  an'  I've  jest 
remembered  that  with  the  scare  the  storm  gave 
us,  we've  neither  of  us  tasted  a  mouthful." 

And  while  Aunt  Zilla  bustled  about  making 
preparations  for  tea,  Sylvia,  close  beside  Jack  in 
the  living-room,  was  telling  him  of  their  terror 
caused  by  the  storm,  and  how  terror  had  become 
almost  frenzy  at  the  sound  of  his  first  knock  at  the 
door.  She  had  taken  him  to  the  living-room,  be- 
cause the  tiny  kitchen  admitted  of  no  visitors 
when  Aunt  Zilla  was  busy. 

"  The  sun  was  shining  when  I  rode  out  of  the 
station,"  he  said,  "  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
trip  was  sunny,  but  as  we  progressed  this  way,  the 
sky  became  overcast,  and  a  cool  breeze  sprung 
up.  The  coach  was  packed  —  even  those  who 
climbed  on  top  sitting  close  together  lest  a  jolt 
send  them  off  into  the  dust  of  the  road,  and  as 
I  enjoy  a  tramp  hugely,  I  said  I'd  walk.  The 
old  Jehu  who  drove  that  coach  told  me  to  keep 
to  the  straight  road  over  which  he  was  departing, 
and  I  couldn't  miss  the  old  Durant  house.  It  was 


IN  MIDST  OF  A  TEMPEST      95 

already  twilight,  so  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  I 
couldn't  miss  it.  He  shouted  after  me :  '  It's 
'bout  two  mile,  young  feller,'  and  I  started  on  my 
tramp.  Sylvia,  it's  not  less  than  four  miles  of  the 
worst  road  I  ever  covered,  but  it  is  worth  it, 
Sylvia,  just  to  be  with  you !  " 

"  And  to  think  that  it  was  you,  Jack,  who  stood 
knocking  at  my  door,  which  I,  listening,  frightened 
half  out  of  my  wits,  dared  not  open!  " 


CHAPTER  XI 

PLEADING 

HAPPY  in  each  other's  company,  all  fear  of 
the  tempest  gone,  they  were  surprised 
when  Aunt  Zilla  appeared  in  the  doorway 
to  say  that  tea  was  so  soon  ready. 

Aunt  Zilla  watched  them  closely  as  she  poured 
the  tea,  and  served  the  biscuits.  She  decided  that 
she  liked  Jack's  honest  face,  with  its  clear  eyes, 
and  firm,  yet  pleasant  mouth. 

"  This  will  end  the  plan  of  stayin'  at  this  old 
house,"  she  thought,  "  and  I'm  glad  of  it,  fer  I've 
had  'nough  of  it  already,  an'  more  than  'nough!  " 

She  believed  that  Sylvia's  bright  eyes  were  a 
sure  sign  that  she  was  far  happier  with  Jack  near 
her,  and  now  that  he  had  actually  come  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  the  two  had  parted  in  anger,  she 
never  for  a  moment  doubted  that  Sylvia  would 
listen  to  his  pleading. 

Sylvia  was  thinking  along  a  widely  different  line 
as  she  talked  and  laughed  with  Jack. 

"  If  he  would  come  here  to  cheer  me  through 
96 


PLEADING  97 

the  year,  and  never  try  to  persuade  me  to  give  up 
my  task,  he  might  often  come,  and  how  happy  I'd 
be !  "  she  thought. 

Aunt  Zilla  wondered  how  much  time  he  had  al- 
lowed for  successful  pleading. 

"  Will  ye  be  able  ter  spend  a  week  with  us?  " 
she  asked,  unable  longer  to  restrain  her  eager 
curiosity. 

"A  week!"  Jack  cried  with  a  laugh.  "I'm 
to  leave  here  to-morrow  morning,  when  I'm  told 
the  old  stage  passes  at  six." 

"  I'd  hoped  ye'd  stay  a  spell,"  Aunt  Zilla  said 
in  evident  regret,  adding:  "  The  place  is  lonely, 
an'  yer  company  cheers." 

"  I  wish  I  might,"  Jack  responded,  "  but  it  was 
only  after  abject  begging  to  be  allowed  two  days 
absence  from  the  office,  and  the  promise  upon  my 
part  to  work  like  a  Trojan  when  I  returned  that 
I  gained  this  brief  visit." 

He  wished  he  might  be  alone  for  the  evening 
with  Sylvia  that  he  might  better  reason  with  her. 
She  would  be  less  likely  to  yield  if  another  listened, 
he  knew. 

The  latter  thought  flitted  through  Aunt  Zilla's 
mind,  and  when  tea  was  over,  the  table  cleared, 
and  the  china  washed  and  put  away,  she  went  up 
to  her  room,  determined  that  Jack  should  have 


98          THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

every  chance  for  winning  Sylvia  to  relinquish  her 
determination  to  remain  at  the  old  house. 

A  long  time  she  sat  thinking,  hoping.  Heartily 
sick  of  the  Durant  house,  and  of  her  promise  to 
stay  with  Sylvia,  she  looked  to  Jack  Stanwood  as 
the  only  person  who  could  induce  the  girl  to  leave 
it,  and  earnestly  she  hoped  that  his  pleading  might 
prevail.  Fearless  she  had  always  called  herself, 
but  there  was  an  atmosphere  about  the  house  that 
would  have  given  a  harsh  test  to  the  strongest 
nerves.  She  could  not  lie  down,  nor  could  she 
lean  back  in  the  low  rocker.  Well  forward  upon 
the  edge  of  its  seat  she  sat  waiting,  waiting —  for 
what  she  could  hardly  have  told. 

Nothing  could  have  induced  Aunt  Zilla  to  listen. 
Indeed  she  had  closed  her  door  upon  entering,  and 
deliberately  seated  herself  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  but  she  thought  by  the  tones  of  their  voices 
she  might  guess  if  things  were  progressing 
smoothly.  Surely  if  she  should  hear  Sylvia's  mu- 
sical laugh,  she  would  know  that  no  clash  of  opin- 
ion had  occurred;  but  if,  instead,  only  the  drone 
of  voices  in  earnest  conversation  came  up  to  her, 
then  certainly  it  would  mean  that  the  two  were 
but  arguing  the  matter  as  they  had  done  before. 

The  storm  was  abating,  the  gale  had  spent  its 
fury,  but  the  pattering  drops  upon  the  pane  told 


PLEADING  99 

that  the  rain  had  not  ceased.  To  the  woman  wait- 
ing, hoping  on  the  morrow  to  hear  that  they  were 
to  leave  the  old  house,  with  its  loneliness,  its 
strange  noises,  its  air  of  mystery,  came  the  sound 
of  Jack's  voice  full  of  restrained  anger.  Evi- 
dently he  was  in  the  lower  hall,  as  if  about  to 
mount  the  stairs  to  his  room.  Clearly  she  heard 
every  word. 

"  You  think  your  duty  is  to  the  dead,  rather 
than  to  the  living.  You  believe  that  you  must 
comply  with  an  old  woman's  whim  expressed  in 
her  will;  but  to  my  pleading  that  I  need  you, 
Sylvia,  that  I  can  not  bear  a  long  year  without 
you,  you  turn  a  deaf  ear." 

Sylvia  replied  in  a  strangely  quiet  voice  that 
was  barely  audible  to  the  anxious  listener,  but  the 
man's  retort  came  clear  and  cutting. 

"  I  am  likely  to  remember,"  he  said.  "  *  A 
year  and  a  day,'  the  extra  day  added,  doubtless, 
because  a  year  isn't  suffering  enough." 

Not  another  word,  but  the  sound  of  firm  steps 
climbing  the  stairs,  passing  her  door  and  along  the 
hall.  Then  the  opening  and  closing  of  a  door  at 
the  far  end  of  the  hall.  Yet  a  while  longer,  Aunt 
Zilla  sat  anxiously  listening  for  Sylvia's  footsteps. 
Was  she  intending  to  remain  down  there  in  the 
lonely  living-room  all  night?  She  must  not  be 


ioo        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

permitted  to  do  that.  She  would  be  sick  with 
fright  before  morning. 

"  Dear,  dear !  What  a  strange  girl !  "  whis- 
pered the  anxious  one. 

After  a  moment  a  door  opened,  and  soft  foot- 
steps came  unsteadily  up  the  long  stairway,  as  if 
the  person  who  approached  the  upper  hall  cared 
little  whether  she  ever  reached  it  or  not.  As 
softly  she  crept  along  the  upper  landing,  and  a 
second  later  Aunt  Zilla  heard  Sylvia's  door  close. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ALONE    WITH    HIS   THOUGHTS 

WITH  his  hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets, 
Jack  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
shadow  on  the  wall  looming  tall,  then 
falling  short  as  he  approached,  or  withdrew  from 
the  table  where  the  candle  sent  out  its  flickering 
light.  After  a  time,  he  dropped  into  a  chair, 
and  with  his  head  bent,  appeared  to  be  in  a  brown 
study. 

As  he  sat  thus,  he  reviewed  every  stage  of  his 
friendship  and  love  for  Sylvia,  from  their  first 
meeting  at  the  horse  show,  to  the  wretched  end- 
ing of  what  he  had  believed  would  be  a  happy 
evening.  He  had  promised  himself  that  Sylvia 
would  be  easily  persuaded  to  leave  the  old  house, 
never  to  return. 

He  saw  the  lights,  the  flowers,  he  heard  again 
the  haunting  strains  of  the  waltz  that  had  always 
been  his  favorite  and  hers,  and  to  which  they  had 
swayed  in  perfect  unison.  The  opera  —  and  he 
seemed  to  see  Sylvia  in  Aunt  Daphne  Van  Horn's 

101 


THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

box,  the  latter  woman  in  heavy  brocade  and  ablaze 
with  diamonds;  and  Sylvia,  exquisitely  beautiful  in 
soft  white  satin  and  pearls. 

At  first  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  received  him  gra- 
ciously, considering  him  merely  in  the  light  of  an 
agreeable  fellow  who  danced  well,  conversed  well, 
and  was  too  much  a  gentleman  to  presume  to  the 
hand  of  Sylvia,  because  his  own  possessions  were 
so  meager.  That  he  had  a  heart  she  never 
doubted,  but  that  he  should  presume  to  bestow  it 
upon  her  niece  —  why,  really  that  was  out  of  the 
question.  No  gentleman  would  so  far  forget 
himself. 

Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  a  habit  of  looking  upon 
those  who  possessed  agreeable  manners,  but  no 
wealth,  as  mere  automatons  who  helped  to  make 
her  parties  successful,  in  return  for  the  priceless 
honor  of  having  received  an  invitation  to  be  pres- 
ent. 

And  whether  it  had  been  at  the  opera,  at  balls, 
or  receptions,  Jack  had  been  aware  of  a  great 
crowd  with  but  one  noticeable  individual,  Sylvia. 
Then  he  thought  of  that  wonderful  evening  when 
she  had  told  of  the  stormy  scene  with  her  aunt, 
when  having  acknowledged  that  she  had  given  her 
love  to  Jack,  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  denounced 
Sylvia  as  a  fool,  had  arraigned  Jack  as  an  upstart, 


ALONE  WITH  HIS  THOUGHTS     103 

and  had  wound  up  the  interview  by  telling  the  girl 
that  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind. 

"  I'll  not  permit  you  to  ruin  your  prospects  by 
such  an  absurd  union,"  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  cried; 
whereat,  Sylvia  had  told  Jack  that  she  had  stoutly 
declared  her  love  for  him,  and  that  she  should 
marry  no  one  else. 

"And  I  want  only  you,  Jack;  and  one  thing 
Aunt  Daphne  said  was  untrue,"  Sylvia  had  con- 
tinued. 

"  She  says  if  I  marry  you,  Jack,  she  will  disin- 
herit me,  and  that  I'd  find  you  different  if  I  told 
you  that,  and  you  aren't  different,  dear.  You're 
just  the  same." 

How  lovingly  she  had  nestled  against  him  when 
he  assured  her  that  it  was  she,  Sylvia  Durant,  that 
he  wanted,  and  that  he  could  in  time  make  money 
enough  to  afford  comfort,  if  not  luxury.  She  had 
nestled  yet  closer,  with  a  contented  little  sigh, 
murmuring  that  it  was  her  own  Jack,  and  not 
money  that  she  wanted,  and  that  Aunt  Daphne 
could  keep  her  wealth,  for  all  she  cared,  and  will 
it  all  to  charity  if  she  chose. 

'  What  has  come  over  Sylvia  to  so  completely 
change  her?"  he  whispered.  Then  aloud: 
"  Once  I  was  more  to  her  than  all  the  world. 
Now,  to  inherit  a  few  hundred  dollars,  and  this 


104        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

desolate  old  rookery,  she  is  willing  —  no,  deter- 
mined to  be  parted  from  me  for  a  year,  barring 
the  few  weeks  that  have  already  passed." 

He  thrust  out  his  hands  as  if  he  thus  might 
push  the  wretched  thoughts  from  him,  the  gesture 
implying  relinquishment  rather  than  despair.  He 
rose  and  went  over  to  the  window  and,  drawing 
aside  the  heavy  curtain,  looked  out  into  the 
night.  The  storm  was  over,  but  the  wind  was 
still  blowing  almost  a  gale.  Here  and  there  a 
star  peeped  out  overhead,  now  dimly  seen,  now 
brightly  twinkling,  alternately  hidden  and  dis- 
played by  the  wind  driven  clouds. 

For  a  time  he  stood  thus ;  then,  snuffing  out  the 
flickering  candle,  threw  himself,  still  clothed,  upon 
the  bed,  to  rest  but  not  to  sleep. 

For  hours  he  lay  thus,  thinking,  thinking,  so 
that  while  his  muscles,  tired  by  miles  of  tramping 
through  the  storm,  were  grateful  for  relaxation, 
his  mind,  when  day  broke,  was  far  more  weary 
than  when  he  snuffed  out  the  dancing  flame. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   DEPARTURE 

JACK  arose  when  the  gray  light  of  dawn 
crept  in  at  the  window.  Of  what  use  was 
it  to  lie  there,  when  sleep  had  deserted  him? 
Impatient  of  the  darkness  that  had  failed  to  bring 
rest;  impatient  of  the  dawn  that  ushered  in  a  new 
day  with  every  detail  of  his  disappointing  visit 
clean  cut  and  cruelly  distinct,  he  heartily  wished 
that  breakfast  were  already  over,  the  trip  back  to 
the  city  accomplished,  and  his  hands  and  brain 
closely  occupied  with  the  two  days'  accumulated 
mail.  Not  that  work,  however  engrossing,  could 
blot  out  disappointment,  grief,  anger,  loneliness. 
That  he  knew  to  be  impossible,  but  there  would  be 
moments  when  matters  requiring  immediate  atten- 
tion would,  for  the  time,  thrust  personal  interests 
aside,  and  he  craved  even  those  brief  intervals  of 
respite  from  harassing  thoughts. 

There  in  the  old  house  silence  reigned. 
Neither  team  nor  pedestrian  broke  the  stillness 
of  early  morning.  Jack  opened"  the  chamber 
door  softly  and  went  down  stairs  —  not  to  the 

105 


io6        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

room  where,  with  his  arms  about  Sylvia,  he  had 
talked  of  the  joy  of  once  more  being  with  her, 
and  she  had  nestled  so  lovingly  beside  him.  In- 
stead, he  turned  sharply  away  from  the  living- 
room,  and  making  his  way  along  the  dark  old  hall, 
drew  the  ponderous  bolts  on  the  oaken  door,  and 
went  out  on  to  the  porch. 

The  storm  had  drenched  the  garden,  and  now 
from  every  leaf  a  drop  hung  pendant.  It  seemed 
hardly  worth  while  to  walk  along  the  path,  damp 
under  foot  and  overhung  with  dripping  shrubbery. 
Leaning  against  the  weather-beaten  pillar,  he 
watched  the  bees,  already  buzzing  among  the 
flowers. 

He  thought  of  Sylvia,  fair  and  graceful,  her 
basket  on  her  arm,  gathering  blossoms,  in  the  hope 
that  their  color  and  fragrance  might  give  a  bit  of 
cheer  in  the  somber  rooms. 

The  strength  of  will  that  had  resisted  all  his 
pleading  was  a  new  trait  in  Sylvia.  Was  it  the 
"  Durant  will  "  that  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  so  often 
mentioned? 

At  first  Sylvia  had  seemed  excited  as  she  had 
tried  to  combat  his  arguments  and  convince  him 
that  he  should  not  try  to  persuade  her  to  relinquish 
her  avowed  determination  to  comply  with  the 
terms  of  the  will.  As  is  ever  the  case,  one  word 


THE  DEPARTURE  107 

had  led  to  another,  until,  hurt  and  angry,  he  had 
accused  her  of  possessing  a  mercenary  rather  than 
a  loving  nature;  whereat,  Sylvia,  instead  of  flush- 
ing with  anger,  had  suddenly  turned  white,  and 
had  answered  with  a  coldness  that  was  new  and 
strange.  When  he  had  turned  to  leave  the  room, 
he  had  fully  believed  that  she  would  call  him  back, 
and  retract,  at  least  in  part,  the  cold  words  that 
had  cut  so  deeply,  but  she  did  not,  and  in  silence 
they  had  parted  for  the  night. 

A  faint  sound  as  of  the  handling  of  china,  the 
first  sound  that  he  had  heard  in  the  house  since  he 
had  risen,  told  that  Aunt  Zilla  was  preparing 
breakfast.  He  looked  at  his  watch.  In  a  little 
more  than  a  half-hour  the  old  stage-coach,  if  on 
time,  would  pass  the  door. 

"  Better  not  waste  much  time  primpin',  young 
feller,  fer  we're  right  on  time  in  the  mornin',"  Jim 
Jimson  had  shouted  as  Jack  was  leaving  the  coach 
on  the  night  before. 

"  Comin'  from  the  deepot,  we  don't  go  nigh  the 
Durant  house,  but  in  the  mornin'  we  race  clean 
by  it,  'n'  ye'll  hev  ter  be  right  out  in  the  road 
a-waitin'  fer  us  ef  ye  want  ter  git  aboard." 

Aunt  Zilla,  pausing  on  her  way  from  kitchen  to 
the  dining-room,  espied  the  wide  open  hall  door. 

"  Maybe  they're  out  there  a  makin'  up,"  she 


io8        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

said  softly,  and  added,  ."  Least  ways,  I  hope  so." 

She  paused  a  moment,  wondering  if  the  two 
were  in  earnest  conversation. 

"  Dear,  dear!  I  ought  ter  call  'em  in.  'F  I 
don't  the  stage'll  arrive  'fore  he's  half  through  his 
breakfast,"  she  whispered,  "  but  I  do  hate  ter  go 
out  there.  Lovers  ain't  fond  of  bein'  int'rupted." 

A  moment  longer  she  waited,  then,  without  ad- 
vancing, she  called:  "  Better  come  in  ter  break- 
fast! " 

Receiving  no  response,  she  called  again,  and  a 
bit  louder:  "  Breakfast  is  ready!  " 

She  gasped  in  astonishment  when  Jack  entered 
the  dining-room  alone;  she  looked  beyond  him, 
sure  that  Sylvia  must  be  deliberately  loitering  in 
the  garden. 

"  I've  not  seen  Sylvia  this  morning,"  Stanwood 
said,  as  if  in  response  to  the  question  that  he  saw 
in  the  shrewd  black  eyes. 

"  I'll  call  her,"  Aunt  Zilla  said;  "  she  must  have 
over  slept." 

"  Pray  don't  disturb  her,"  he  said  so  clearly,  so 
coldly,  that  she  resumed  her  seat  from  which  she 
had  partly  risen. 

Then  each  made  an  effort  to  eat,  and  to  appear 
as  if  unaware  that  one  whom  they  both  loved  was 
deliberately  absent  from  the  table. 


THE  DEPARTURE  109 

And  while  the  two  sipped  their  coffee,  and  nib- 
bled at  their  toast,  Sylvia,  still  wearing  the  white 
gown  of  the  evening  before,  lay,  in  heavy  slum- 
ber, just  as  she  had  thrown  herself  down  upon 
her  bed. 

She  had  sat  in  a  low  chair  by  the  window  for 
hours,  hoping  that  the  soft  evening  air  would  cool 
her  burning  cheeks,  but  the  arguments,  the  stern 
rebuke  accusing  her  of  being  selfish,  and  mercen- 
ary, the  gross  misunderstanding  of  her  motives; 
these  flitting  through  her  tortured  mind  had  made 
her  head  ache,  and  her  cheeks  far  hotter  than  be- 
fore. Believing  that  she  could  not  sleep,  she  had 
not  undressed,  but  in  her  restless  tossing  upon 
her  pillow,  the  pins  that  had  held  her  bright  hair 
in  a  loose  coil  at  the  base  of  her  head,  had  worked 
themselves  free,  and  the  hair  now  lay  a  glittering 
mass  upon  her  shoulders. 

It  was  not  until  nearly  daylight  that  sleep, 
blessed  sleep,  came  to  blot  out,  for  a  time  at  least, 
the  distracting  thoughts  that  had  made  rest  during 
the  earlier  hours  of  the  night  impossible.  The 
time  for  Jack's  departure  was  now  so  near  at  hand 
that  at  any  moment  the  old  stage-coach  might  ap- 
pear in  sight,  and  still  she  lay  motionless,  heavily 
sleeping. 


no        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Hey,  there !  Don't  ye  git  rampageous ! 
Ye'll  hev  ter  stop  ef  'tis  down-hill  grade,  'cause 
there's  a  likely-lookin'  chap  wants  ter, —  Oh,  here 
ye  be.  Wai,  climb  aboard,  now.  There  ain't  a 
minute  ter  spare  ef  ye  want  ter  ketch  the  train!  " 

A  hasty  word  to  Aunt  Zilla,  a  look  into  her  eyes 
that  showed  her  such  genuine  pain,  that  her  sym- 
pathy shifted  from  Sylvia's  to  Jack's  side  of  the 
argument,  and  he  was  off,  Jim  Jimson  having 
started  his  horses  before  his  new  passenger  was 
actually  seated. 

As  Aunt  Zilla  turned  from  the  doorway,  a  slen- 
der white  gowned  figure  with  flying  hair  came 
running  down  the  stairway. 

"Jack,  oh  Jack!  "  she  cried,  "  Is  he  gone,  or 
did  I  dream  I  heard  the  coach?  Jack!  " 

"  Wai,  yes,  he's  gone,  an'  with  four  horses  ter 
drag  it,  I  guess  'twouldn't  pay  ter  try  ter  over- 
take the  coach.  The  driver  said  they'd  jest 
barely  be  in  time  ter  ketch  the  train  ef  they  didn't 
waste  a  minute." 

The  girl  stood  looking  at  her  as  if  scarcely  com- 
prehending. 

"  I  wouldn't  never  hev  believed  ye'd  stayed 
away  from  breakfast  jest  delib'rate,  but  hevin' 
stayed,  what  made  ye  change  yer  mind,  an'  come 
down?  Why,  Sylvia,  why  don't  ye  speak?  Ye 


THE  DEPARTURE  in 

look  like  a  ghost.  Surely  ye  know  'twas  strange 
ter  come  racin'  down  jest  too  late  ter  even  say 
1  good-by.'  " 

But  Sylvia,  without  replying,  groped  her  way 
along  the  hall  to  the  living-room,  where,  sinking 
into  a  reed  chair  near  the  window,  she  looked  out 
on  the  dusty  road,  with  eyes  that  saw  neither 
sunlight  nor  shadow. 

Aunt  Zilla,  in  the  doorway,  stood  irresolute, 
wondering  how  to  treat  this  new  phase  of  a  prob- 
lem which,  ever  since  the  day  of  their  arrival,  had 
puzzled  her.  On  days  when  the  girl  had  seemed 
cheerful,  Aunt  Zilla  had  gladly  fallen  in  with  her 
mood,  but  often  there  had  been  times,  especially 
when  stormy  weather  had  shut  them  in,  when  all 
attempts  at  conversation  had  proved  futile,  and 
the  older  woman  had  relinquished  the  effort. 

At  such  times  Sylvia  was  not  moody.  No  one 
could  justly  have  said  that,  but  the  atmosphere 
of  the  isolated  house,  the  loneliness,  the  knowl- 
edge that  for  so  long  a  time  she  must  remain  there, 
would  prove  so  depressing  that  no  topic  suggested 
awakened  a  spark  of  interest. 

After  a  few  moments'  study  of  the  girl's  listless 
figure,  Aunt  Zilla  retired  to  the  kitchen,  there  to 
give  vent  to  her  feelings  with  silent  walls  for 
audience.  She  would  have  mentioned  her  opin- 


iia         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

ion  of  the  situation  to  Sylvia,  but  she  saw  that  it 
was  hardly  a  fortunate  time  for  airing  her  views. 
Having  made  much  clatter  among  the  dishes,  she 
extended  her  hand  toward  the  opposite  wall  as  if 
she  believed  it  capable  of  hearing,  and  proceeded 
to  free  her  mind. 

"What's  a  body  ter  do  in  a  case  like  this?" 
she  asked.  "  Here's  him  gone,  an'  her  as  blue 
as  a  indigo-bag.  Ye  couldn't  make  her  budge 
from  this  place,  an'  nothin'  short  o'  that  would 
satisfy  him.  He's  a  likely  young  chap  as  I  ever 
see,  an'  she's  a  lovely  girl,  but  she's  got  the  Du- 
rant  will,  an'  he's  got  some  spunk,  so  there  ye  hev 
it,  an'  what's  ter  be  did,  I'd  like  ter  know?  " 

The  four  grimy  walls  of  the  little  kitchen 
proved  satisfying  in  place  of  a  human  auditor,  and 
after  a  few  moments  she  resumed. 

"  She's  been  bright  and  cheery  when  the  sun 
shone,  but  that  was  before  he'd  been  here,  an' 
they'd  had  a  difference.  How  will  she  act  now, 
I  wonder?  If  anything  I  could  do  would  cheer 
her,  land  knows  I'd  do  it,  but  what  would  be  the 
thing  ter  do  ?  I  guess  nobody  could  answer  that," 
she  concluded,  and  she  finished  the  morning's  tasks 
in  silence,  her  monologue  having  apparently  eased 
her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HAUNTED 

THE  soft  haze  of  early  morning  had  vanished 
before  the  warm  sunlight  that  gilded  all  ob- 
jects its  bright  rays  touched. 

Tall  and  dark,  the  great  trees  across  the  road 
caught  never  a  sunbeam  save  upon  their  topmost 
branches,  so  that  their  lower  limbs,  their  heavy 
trunks,  and  the  stunted  underbrush  formed  a  dark 
and  cheerless  background  for  any  object  that 
chanced  to  stand  out  in  the  light. 

A  single  stalk  of  meadow-rue  stood  erect  in 
the  sunshine  at  the  roadside,  its  feathery  white 
blossoms  and  lace-like  foliage  contrasting  sharply 
against  the  dark,  shadow-haunted  forest  behind  it. 

Sylvia's  eyes  had  been  looking  out  as  if  into 
space,  her  mind  closely  occupied  with  thoughts  of 
one  whom  out  of  all  the  world  she  held  dearest, 
and  who  now,  hurt  and  angry,  was  speeding  as 
rapidly  as  possible  away  from  the  village  and  the 
girl  that  he  loved. 

Now  that  he  believed  her  to  be  mercenary,  and 
"3 


ii4        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

obstinate  in  her  determination  to  win  what  he 
supposed  to  be  but  a  miserable  pittance,  would  he 
still  care  for  her?  Would  his  love  still  enfold 
her,  or  would  his  false  estimate  of  her  character 
and  motives  usurp  the  place  in  his  heart  that 
hitherto  had  been  wholly  her  own  ? 

Then  doubt  crept  in. 

Had  he,  up  to  this  time,  been  entirely  her  own? 
Had  the  wretched  rumor  uniting  his  name  with 
Fanny  Ardmore's  been  unfounded? 

A  sharp  pang  at  her  heart  told  her  how  intense 
was  her  love  for  Jack  Stanwood;  how  fearful  a 
thing  would  be  the  loss  of  that  love.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  the  sun-kissed  meadow-rue  caught 
her  attention,  and  she  gazed  at  it,  noting  its  slen- 
der grace,  and  beauty.  A  sigh  escaped  her  lips 
—  the  first  sound  that  she  had  uttered  since  she 
had  sat  down  by  the  open  window. 

"  I  am  like  that,"  she  whispered.  "  Straight 
and  slender,  alone,  and  with  the  dark  background 
of  Aunt  Daphne's  scorn,  and  in  the  immediate, 
foreground,  Jack's  anger,  and  a  year  to  be  en- 
dured in  this  terrible  old  house !  " 

After  a  time  her  eyes  roved  to  a  spot  farther 
down  the  road  where  a  slender  white  birch  stood 
swaying  in  the  rising  breeze. 

"  Or  like  that,"  she  whispered,  "  for  I  am  like 


HAUNTED  115 

the  birch,  too.  Every  breeze  stirs  and  rocks  it. 
A  gale  would  try  to  break  it,  and  no  other  of  its 
kind  stands  near  to  help  it  to  withstand  the  buf- 
feting of  wind  or  storm." 

It  was  not  odd  that  Sylvia  should  make  the 
comparison,  for  so  great  was  her  sense  of  utter 
loneliness  that  the  blossoming  weed,  and  single, 
slender  birch  seemed  strikingly  like  herself  in  her 
present  position. 

Aunt  Zilla  tiptoed  softly  from  the  kitchen  out 
into  the  hall,  glanced  at  the  silent  figure  still  sit- 
ting at  the  window,  and  as  softly  withdrew. 

"  No  use  ter  try  ter  talk  ter  her  while  she  has 
any  such  thoughts  as  she  'pears  ter  hev  naow," 
she  said.  "  Mebbe  by  this  time  she's  some  re- 
gret-tin' keepin'  away  from  breakfast  an'  lettin' 
a  likely  chap  like  that  go  off  feelin'  huffy." 

The  cool  of  early  morning  had  departed,  and 
now  the  rays  of  the  scorching  sun  beat  down  upon 
the  road,  making  the  deep,  powdery  dust  as  hot 
as  if  a  furnace  lay  beneath  it. 

A  lean,  overgrown  lad,  tall  for  his  fourteen 
years,  slouched  along  the  road  wincing  when  his 
bare  foot  discovered  a  sharp  pebble,  then  tramp- 
ing more  sturdily  than  before  to  imply  that  if  any 
one  imagined  that  he  had  flinched,  that  person  was 
mistaken.  Beside  him  trudged  a  small  boy,  who 


ii6        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

appeared  to  feel  highly  honored  that  one  who  had 
attained  the  distinction  of  being  fourteen  years  old 
would  permit  a  little  nine-year-old  chap  like  him- 
self to  walk  and  even  talk  with  him.  The  over- 
grown lad  would  have  scorned  to  admit  that  the 
intense  heat  was  almost  too  much  for  him,  but 
when  the  small  boy  cried :  "  Gee  !  I  got  ter  rest 
an'  cool  off,"  the  older  boy  saw  a  chance  to  take 
the  rest  that  he  coveted,  without  loss  of  pride  or 
dignity. 

"All  right!"  he  said,  "I  could  tramp  along 
fer  hours  yet,  but  I  don't  want  ter  walk  the  feet 
off'n  ye,  so  we'll  set  down  here  in  the  shadder  fer 
a  spell." 

They  had  been  walking  along  close  to  the  fence, 
unseen  by  Sylvia  because  of  syringa  bushes  that 
overhung,  and  taller  shrubs  that  made  a  sort  of 
high,  uneven  hedge.  For  a  time  they  were  silent, 
then  the  sunlight,  moving  aslant  the  roadway,  lay 
upon  their  bare  feet  and  legs,  a  burning  band. 
They  crept  farther  along,  still  beneath  the 
shelter  of  overhanging  shrubbery,  until  they  were 
well  out  of  the  reach  of  the  sun,  and  leaning  back 
against  the  fence,  resumed  their  conversation. 
They  were  now  nearly  opposite  the  open  win- 
dow where  Sylvia  sat,  and  though  unseen  by  her, 
their  words  were  clearly  audible. 


HAUNTED  117 

"  Well,  'tis  haunted.  My  granther  says  so,  an' 
I  guess  he  knows." 

It  was  the  older  boy  who  spoke  as  with  au- 
thority; and  with  the  evident  intention  of  con- 
vincing his  companion  that  he  knew  whereof  he 
spoke,  he  continued: 

"  An'  he  remembers  when  he  was  a  young  man, 
he  went  out  one  night  ter  meet  a  feller  he  knew, 
an'  the  way  he'd  be  'bliged  ter  go,  he'd  pass  the 
ol'  house;  they  was  no  way  o'  dodgin'  it, — " 

"  What  d'he  see?  "  questioned  the  eager  young- 
ster. 

"  Aw,  wait  'til  I  git  ter  it,  can't  ye?  "  snarled 
the  narrator. 

After  an  irritating  pause,  made  not  only  for 
effect,  but  designed  to  punish  the  impatient  one, 
he  continued: 

"  Wai,  granther  says  he  did  hate  to  pass  the 
house  like  pizen,  but  he  had  to,  to  keep  the 
'pintment  with  the  feller  what  he  knew  would  be 
waitin'  fer  him  up  the  road,  so  he  grabbed  the 
stick  he  held  in  his  hand  tighter,  an'  thought  ef  he 
stepped  pretty  lively,  mebbe  he'd  git  by  'fore  any- 
thing happened." 

Again  there  was  a  pause,  but  this  time  the  small 
boy,  because  of  the  recent  sharp  rebuke,  remained 
silent.  With  the  unreasonableness  frequently 


u8         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

seen  in  adults,  the  lad,  previously  annoyed  by  in- 
terruption, was  now  offended  because  none  oc- 
curred. He  frowned  at  his  young  companion. 
The  small  boy  took  the  hint. 

"G'wan!"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  d'ye  want  ter  hear  what  happened?  " 

"'Course  I  do.  G'wan,  do!"  the  small  boy 
urged. 

Thus  flattered,  he  resumed.  "  Wai,  'fore 
granther  reached  the  house,  he  see  lights  appearin' 
an'  dis'pearin',  but  he  kept  right  on,  an'  jest  as  he 
reached  the  gate,  this  gate  next  where  we're  set- 
tin',  the  light  flared  up  in  all  the  winders,  and  he 
heard  kind  er  soft  music  o'  violins  an'  harps.  He 
was  some  scared,  fer  they  hadn't  nobody  lived  in 
that  house  fer  years  'n'  years,  an'  he  knew  nobody 
hadn't  moved  in,  fer  he'd  passed  the  house  'bout 
five  o'clock  an'  'twas  jest  as  empty  as  it  had  al- 
ways been.  There,  what  d'ye  think  o'  that?  " 

"  My!  I'll  bet  his  hair  stood  on  end!  "  was 
the  answer,  in  an  awed  voice ;  then  wishing  to  have 
a  share  in  the  telling,  he  added:  "  My  grandma 
says  she  remembers  when  some  one  lived  there, 
but  she's  forgotten  who." 

"  Yer  grandmother's  got  a  gret  mem'ry,  'ain't 
she,  Bub?  "  sneered  the  big  boy,  and  the  small  boy 
made  no  further  attempt  to  add  to  the  story. 


HAUNTED  119 

He  could  not,  however,  refrain  from  asking  a 
question. 

"Did  he  git  by?" 

"Ye're  a  little  greeny!  Ef  he  hadn't  got  by 
that  time,  how'd  he  be  tellin'  me  'bout  it  ter-day? 
Wai,  he  took  what  courage  he  had,  and  started 
ter  walk  past  this  gate,  the  one  next  where  we're 
settin',  and  jest  when  he  was  in  front  o'  it,  a  white 
hand  reached  out  through  the  picket  ter  grab  him ! 
Granther  says  he  give  one  yell,  an'  raced  by,  but 
when  he  reached  the  place  up  the  road  where  he 
'xpected  ter  find  his  friend  waitin'  fer  him,  the 
feller  wan't  there,  and  he  wa'n't  never  seen  again, 
an'  hain't  been  heard  from,  from  that  day  ter  this. 
Come  on !  Pa'll  give  me  fits  ef  I  ain't  home 
pooty  soon.  He's  got  a  job  in  pickle  fer  me  that 
I  don't  hanker  fer,  darn  it." 

They  sprang  to  their  feet,  and  tramped  off  up 
the  road. 

Sylvia  had  heard  every  word,  and  although  she 
knew  it  to  be  an  absurd  tale,  the  fabrication  of 
some  superstitious  villager  who  enjoyed  the  sen- 
sation that  such  a  story  would  awaken,  yet  she 
could  not  shake  off  its  uncanny  influence,  and  ear- 
nestly she  wished  that  she  had  not  heard  it.  She 
resolved  not  to  repeat  it.  Aunt  Zilla,  already 
convinced  that  the  place  was  haunted,  because  of 


120        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  strange  sounds  that  from  time  to  time  echoed 
through  the  house,  needed  no  such  tale  as  the 
young  lad  had  told  to  strengthen  her  conviction, 
or  confirm  her  statements.  Would  she  hear  the 
tale  from  some  other  inhabitant? 


CHAPTER  XV 

OPINION  GRATIS 

AGAIN  Aunt  Zilla  turned  her  attention  to- 
ward the  living-room,  but  this  time  she  did 
not  "  tiptoe  "  as  before.  Instead  she  ad- 
vanced with  determined  tread,  coming  to  a  full 
stop  directly  in  front  of  Sylvia.  In  her  left  hand 
she  held  a  mass  of  weeds  that  she  had  uprooted, 
in  her  right  a  pair  of  rusty  shears. 

"  Sylvia,  ye  must  rouse  yerself.  Ye  can't  set 
there  all  day  like  that.  Not  that  there's  any- 
thing ye  need  do,  but  ye'll  get  no  good  out  o' 
worryin'  over  things  that's  did,  fer  what's  did  is 
did,  while  there's  a  chance  that  some  day  when 
the  spirit  moves  ye,  ye  kin  ww-do  it,  but  jest  now 
I  want  ter  ask  ye:  Did  ye  hear  the  yarn  'bout 
this  place  them  young  chaps  was  tellin'?  " 

"  Yes,  and  I  wish  I'd  not  heard  it,"  the  girl  said 
in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  hoped  ye  hadn't  heard  it,"  the  older  woman 
replied,  "  but  I  was  sure  ye  had.  I  didn't  see  them 
boys  as  they  came  along,  fer  I  was  on  my  knees 

121 


122         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

in  the  garding,  a  choppin'  off  some  tall  weeds  that 
looked  jest  a  bit  wuss'n  the  others,  an'  all  at  once 
I  heard  voices.  I'd  half  a  mind  ter  tell  'em  ter 
stop,  drive  'em  off,  an'  tell  'em  ter  keep  away  f'm 
here,  but  some  way  I  didn't.  The  place  is  none  too 
pleasant  as  'tis,  an'  so  we  don't  need  the  ill  will 
of  any  of  the  critters  that  live  here,  man  or  beast. 
Like  'nough  if  I'd  druv  'em  off  they'd  come  back 
at  nightfall  ter  scare  us  with  some  outlandish 
trick." 

"  It  was  best  to  say  nothing  to  them,"  Sylvia 
replied.  "  Doubtless  I  was  foolish  to  heed 
what  they  told,  but  I  was  sufficiently  unhappy  be- 
fore they  sat  down  by  the  gateway  to  talk,  and  I 
surely  am  not  cheered  by  the  knowledge  that  this 
old  place  has  the  reputation  of  being  haunted. 
It's  odd,"  she  continued,  "  that  you  were  hoping 
that  I  had  not  heard  it,  at  about  the  same  time 
that  I  was  wishing  that  their  story  might  not  have 
reached  your  ears.  I  did  not  dream  that  you 
were  in  the  garden,  and  so  near  them." 

Deciding  that  there  was  no  time  like  the  pres- 
ent for  doing  what  she  considered  her  duty,  Aunt 
Zilla  seated  herself  upon  the  extreme  edge  of  an 
old  flag-seated  chair,  and  proceeded  to  express  her 
opinion,  which,  however,  had  not  been  asked. 
Her  left  hand  still  clutched  the  clump  of  uprooted 


OPINION  GRATIS  123 

weeds,  her  right  held  the  rusty  shears  with  which 
she  gesticulated,  to  enforce  her  meaning. 

"  Speakin'  'bout  bein'  unhappy,  Sylvia,  I  know 
ye're  lonesome  here  all  the  time,  an'  no  wonder, 
but  as  ter  this  morning's  unpleasantness,  ye  can't 
blame  a  feller  what's  possessed  of  any  brain  at 
all,  ef  he  goes  off  some  vexed  when  you,  the  one 
he  come  ter  see,  let  him  eat  his  breakfast  alone, 
an'  then  don't  even  appear  ter  say  '  good-by,' 
until  it's  too  late  ter  see  him,  which  don't  count 
fer  much!  " 

Sylvia  turned  from  the  window,  and  for  the 
first  time  faced  Aunt  Zilla.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed,  and  her  eyes,  bright  as  stars,  were  dark 
and  angry. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FOR  JACK'S  SAKE 

AS  suddenly  as  the  color  had  suffused  her 
cheeks,  it  receded,  leaving  her  paler  than 
before,  and  her  eyes  that  for  a  second 
had  flashed  fire,  now  held  a  look  of  quiet  deter- 
mination. 

"  It's  no  use,  Aunt  Zilla,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
blaming  me  without  fully  understanding  the  situa- 
tion. That  is  exactly  what  Jack  is  doing.  I 
have  already  told  you,  and  I  believe  you  remem- 
ber it,  that  this  old  house  is  but  a  small  part  of 
the  property.  I  am  sure  that  I  told  you  that  be- 
side thirty  thousand  dollars  deposited  in  banks, 
there  is  real  estate  in  New  York,  the  value  of 
which  is  yet  to  be  determined.  Jack  believes  that 
this  weather-beaten  house,  and  possibly  a  small 
sum  of  money,  is  the  tempting  prize  for  which  I 
am  obstinately  staying  here,  thus  making  us  both 
miserable." 

"  Sylvia  Durant,  ye're  the  queerest  girl  I  ever 
see.  There's  plenty  o'  good  points  in  ye,  that 

124 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE  125 

make  me  love  ye,  but  here  an'  there  there's  an  odd 
streak  I  can't  noways  understand.  Per  massy's 
sake,  what  is  yer  object  in  keepin'  Jack  in  the 
dark,  a  lettin'  him  think  ye're  stayin'  here,  and 
keeping  the  two  of  ye  apart  fer  the  sake  o'  win- 
nin'  what's  next  ter  nothin'  at  all.  Sylvia,  hev  ye 
any  reason  fer  not  tellin'  him?  Ef  ye  hev,  I'd 
like  ter  hear  it." 

"  Aunt  Daphne  Van  Horn  was  determined  that 
I  should  marry,  not  Jack  whom  I  love  with  all  my 
heart,  but  a  man  whom  she  had  chosen  for  me, 
simply  and  solely  because  he  was  wealthy.  When 
I  refused,  she  was  furious.  She  threatened  to 
disinherit  me,  saying  that  that  would  bring  me  to 
terms.  She  accused  Jack,  my  Jack,  of  caring  for 
me  because  he  believed  me  to  be  sole  heir  to  her 
wealth,  and  said  that  when  he  learned  that  none 
of  her  fortune  was  coming  to  me,  he'd  lose  his  in- 
terest." 

"  But  Sylvia,  girl,  I  can't  b'lieve  he'd  change 
toward  ye  fer  any  such  reason  as  that.  I  said  the 
minute  I  set  eyes  on  him :  '  That  chap  is  true 
blue,'  an'  I  still  think  so." 

"  So  do  I,  Aunt  Zilla,  but  Jack  does  not  know 
how  tempting  is  the  prize  that  I  can  win,  if  my 
courage  is  equal  to  the  test.  I  must  abide  by  the 
terms  of  the  will  to  obtain  it,  or,  failing  to  do  so, 


126         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

forfeit  all  claim  to  the  property.  I  know  you 
wonder  why  I've  not  told  Jack,  and  I'll  tell  you 
now  just  why  I  have  kept  silent. 

"  If,  when  the  year  has  passed,  I  have  been  so 
stanch,  so  faithful  that  I  have,  in  spite  of  the  fear, 
the  loneliness,  remained  here  as  Aunt  Sylvia  stipu- 
lated, the  prize  will  be  mine.  That  prize  I  have 
coveted;  that  with  it  fairly  won,  and  actually  in 
my  possession,  I  shall  be  able  to  refuse  Aunt 
Daphne's  words  that,  ever  since  she  uttered  them, 
have  rung  in  my  ears. 

'  You  are  not  quite  penniless,'  she  said,  '  but 
your  property  is  so  small  that  you  will  be  a  burden 
to  a  poor  man,  a  drag,  a  foil  to  his  ambition. 
Your  tastes  are  expensive.  To  be  sure,  that  is 
my  fault,'  she  said,  '  for  I  have  fostered,  and 
gratified  them;  but  tell  me,  Sylvia,  what  can  you 
do  to  help  make  a  poor  man's  home  comfortable?' 
It  was  a  cruel  speech,  but  it  was  the  truth.  What 
could  I  do  to  lessen  expenses  for  Jack?  I  could 
not  cook,  I've  never  tried  to  make  a  single  article 
of  clothing,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  could  mend 
neatly.  My  cheeks  burned  with  anger,  called 
forth  in  part  by  the  contemptuous  speech,  but 
largely  by  the  fact  that  my  own  heart  acknowl- 
edged the  truth  of  her  words  although  I  said 
never  a  word  that  admitted  that. 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE  127 

"  I  was  angry  that  I  could  not  say  one  word 
in  my  own  behalf.  Aunt  Daphne  laughed. 
'  You  are  well  fitted  to  be  the  wife  of  the  man 
that  I  chose  for  you,  but  you  are  incompetent  to 
deal  with  problems  that  would  daily  confront  you 
in  the  simple  home  that  Jack  Stanwood  could  pro- 
vide. Why,  Sylvia,  you  have  always  had  a  maid 
to  help  you  dress.  Think  of  that!  As  a  poor 
man's  wife,  you'd  be  a  joke,  a  hindrance.' 

"  I  dared  not  mention  Jack's  warm  and  loving 
heart,  or  to  say  that  I  knew  that  he  would  be 
patient  with  me,  while  I  was  learning  to  be  his 
helpmate.  I  did  not  insist,  as  I  had  often  done 
before,  that  love  was  far  dearer  than  money, 
for  you  know,  as  all  in  our  family  have  known, 
that  the  reason  that  Aunt  Daphne  and  Aunt 
Sylvia  could  never  agree  was  because  Aunt  Sylvia 
loved  her  husband  dearly,  and  after  he  passed 
away,  she  seemed  to  care  for  nothing  that  for- 
merly had  held  her  interest. 

"  Aunt  Daphne  married  for  money,  and  when 
she  found  herself  alone  in  the  world,  she  plunged 
into  the  gay  social  whirl,  seeming  more  infatuated 
with  it  than  ever.  Aunt  Sylvia,  true-hearted,  sin- 
cerely grieving  for  the  one  whom  she  had  loved  so 
ardently,  declared  Aunt  Daphne's  course  a  dis- 
grace, and  an  exhibition  of  flightiness,  that  be- 


ia8         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

spoke  great  lack  of  respect  for  the  one  who  so  re- 
cently had  been  taken  from  her.  Aunt  Daphne 
returned  the  compliment  by  calling  Aunt  Sylvia 
an  absurd  and  foolish  recluse,  and  the  two  sisters 
never  met  again." 

Aunt  Zilla  had  been  listening  with  rapt  atten- 
tion, never  once  had  she  ventured  to  interrupt. 
At  times,  when  especially  moved,  she  had  waved 
the  handful  of  wilted,  dangling  weeds,  and  once 
she  had  carved  the  air  with  the  shears,  but  her 
parted  lips  and  the  twinkle  in  her  sharp  black  eyes 
told  plainer  than  words  that  she  was  fully  in  sym- 
pathy with  the  girl  whose  friend  and  companion 
she  had  promised  to  be. 

*  Ye're  sweet-tempered,  Sylvia,  an'  ye're 
bright  an'  quick  ter  learn,  so,  in  my  opinion,  ye'd 
be  a  blessin'  ter  whoever  ye  choose  ter  wed." 

"  I  could  learn,  I  believe,  to  do  all  the  tasks  for 
which  Aunt  Daphne  declared  me  to  be  unfit,  but 
I'd  not  be  doing  right  to  let  the  prize  slip  through 
my  fingers  that  would  insure  freedom  from 
anxiety  for  Jack." 

"  But  ye  hain't  yet  told  me  yer  other  reason  fer 
tryin'  ter  win  it,"  cried  Aunt  Zilla,  "  an'  not  tellin' 
Jack." 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  Sylvia  said,  "  and  that  is 
wholly  for  Jack's  sake.  Jack  now  believes,  as 


FOR  JACK'S  SAKE  129 

I  said  a  short  time  ago,  that  this  old  house  and  a 
wee  bit  of  money  is  all  that  keeps  me  here. 
Aunt  Zilla,  I  want  him  to  continue  to  'think  that, 
even  though  it  makes  me  look  small  and  grasp- 
ing to  make  the  sacrifice  of  living  here  to  attain, 
apparently,  so  little. 

"  When  the  property  is  mine,  I  can  surprise  him 
with  the  size  of  my  acquired  possessions,  but 
greater  still  will  be  my  delight,  when  I  can  tell 
Aunt  Daphne  that  Jack  never  dreamed  the  size 
of  my  little  inheritance;  that  he  believed  me  to  be 
foolishly  faithful  in  acceding  to  Aunt  Sylvia's 
wishes;  that  throughout  the  year  he  supposed  that 
my  reward  would  be  meager;  that  he  waited  for 
me  because  his  love  was  sincere;  and  that  he  did 
not  wish  to  wait,  but  would  gladly  have  married 
me  on  the  day  that  she  threatened  to  cut  me  off 
penniless." 

A  loud  knock  at  the  back  door  startled  Sylvia, 
while  Aunt  Zilla  dropped  both  the  weeds  and  the 
rusty  shears. 

"Would  ye  answer  the  knock?"  she  whis- 
pered. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  PROPHET  AT  THE  DOOR 

WOODBINE  overhung  the  doorway 
whence  the  knock  had  sounded,  and  tall, 
heavy  shrubbery  bordered  each  side  of 
the  walk,  so  that  the  entrance  was  barely  visible 
from  the  road,  unless  one  knew  it  to  be  there, 
and  looked  for  it. 

Aunt  Zilla,  on  her  way  through  the  house,  mut- 
tered remonstrance :  "  What  ever  possessed  any 
one  to  come  pokin'  round  the  house  ter  hunt  fer 
a  door  to  knock  on?  " 

The  rusty  bolt  at  first  resisted  her  effort  to  push 
it  aside,  the  sagging  door  dragged  on  the  sill. 
Then,  unexpectedly  it  gave  way,  and  opened,  dis- 
closing a  singular-looking  individual  standing  on 
the  walk  and  looking  up  at  Aunt  Zilla  with  a  va- 
cant stare.  His  coat  and  trousers  were  of  a 
rusty  hue,  bespeaking  long  service;  his  hat,  an 
ancient  derby,  matched  their  tints  to  a  nicety;  but 
the  strangest  part  of  his  costume  was  a  length  of 

130 


A  PROPHET  AT  THE  DOOR     131 

gayly  flowered  calico  that  was  thrown  over  his 
shoulder  as  if  intended  for  a  mantle. 

Espying  the  tall,  angular  woman  in  the  door- 
way, he  removed  his  hat,  and  stood  waiting,  as  if 
he  expected  her  to  bid  him  welcome. 

'  Was't  you  that  knocked?"  she  asked, 
sharply. 

The  fellow  nodded. 

"Well,  what  d'ye  want?" 

"  I'm  a  prophet,  an'  I've  come  ter  warn  ye,  an' 
woe  unto  ye  if  ye  don't  attend.  This  house  is  but 
a  temp'rary  abode,  an'  when  the  crack  o'  doom 
sounds,  this  dwellin',  an'  them  that's  in  it  will  go 
up  in  smoke!  " 

His  voice,  when  he  had  commenced  speaking, 
had  been  low,  and  its  tone  monotonous,  but  the 
last  word  burst  from  his  lips  in  a  shriek,  so  un- 
expected that  Aunt  Zilla  actually  jumped,  at  the 
same  instant  uttering  a  shrill  cry  keyed  to  the 
same  pitch  as  that  of  the  last  word  of  the 
prophecy. 

I{  No  use  ter  take  on  like  that,  or  ter  jump  about 
friv'lous,  but  prepare  fer  the  day  o'  wrath  when 
in  flames  the  — " 

"  Crazy  as  a  loon !  "  whispered  Aunt  Zilla, 
closing  and  securely  bolting  the  door,  and  then 
cautiously  peering  from  the  window  to  learn  if 


132         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  strange  being  had  departed.  A  jar  holding 
tall  stalks  of  phlox  stood  on  the  window  sill,  form-i 
ing  a  screen  from  behind  which  she  watched. 

Out  on  the  walk  the  man  stood  and  for  a  mo- 
ment regarded  the  closed  door  as  if  believing  that 
it  might  again  open.  He  seemed  not  to  be  angry, 
but  rather  as  if  vaguely  wondering  that  his 
prophecy  had  received  no  applause,  had  awakened 
no  enthusiasm.  When,  however,  it  dawned  upon 
him  that  the  door  was  to  remain  closed,  he  threw 
his  arms  above  his  head,  and,  after  holding  the 
pose  for  a  moment,  dropped  them  at  his  side, 
bowed  his  head,  and  chanted  a  few  notes,  as  if  in 
incantation.  Then  uttering  one  long  note,  like  an 
outcry,  he  shook  his  head,  and  turning,  walked 
down  the  path  to  the  gate.  He  paused  there, 
and  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  coat  pocket,  drew 
forth  a  handful  of  ashes  with  which  he  bestrewed 
his  unkempt  locks.  Again  he  looked  fixedly  at 
the  closed  door,  then  strode  off  down  the  dusty 
road,  the  gayly  colored  calico  mantle  fluttering 
behind  him,  as  if  waving  adieu. 

Aunt  Zilla  dropped  on  the  nearest  chair. 

"  What  next?  "  she  said. 

Sylvia,  appearing  in  the  doorway,  wondered 
what  had  startled  her. 

"Who    tapped    at    the    door?"    she    asked. 


A  PROPHET  AT  THE  DOOR      133 

"  Why,  Aunt  Zilla,  you  look  as  if  you  had  been 
frightened.  It  wasn't  the  strange-looking  man 
that  I  saw  a  moment  ago  going  up  the  road,  was 
it?" 

Aunt  Zilla  nodded. 

*  Yes,  an'  he's  as  crazy  as  a  loon,"  she  replied, 
"  and  I  wish  I  thought  this  would  be  the  last  time 
we'd  see  him,  but  I  don't.  I  b'lieve  we'll  be  pes- 
tered with  him  from  now  on." 

Sylvia  tried  to  speak  lightly. 

"  Oh,  perhaps  not,"  she  said,  although  the  pros- 
pect of  frequent  calls  from  a  lunatic  was  anything 
but  cheering,  and  if  he  were  resident  in  the  town, 
why  might  he  not  feel  like  calling  if  he  happened 
to  be  passing? 

"  Why  did  you  think  him  insane  ? "  Sylvia 
asked.  "  Did  he  talk  strangely?  " 

"Did  he?  Why,  Sylvia,  he  thinks  he's  a 
prophet!  " 

Aunt  Zilla  forgot  her  resolve  to  tell  the  girl 
nothing  that  could  frighten  her,  and  she  described 
the  happening  in  detail,  watching  Sylvia  closely 
the  while,  as  if  to  note  what  impression  the  recital 
made.  As  the  girl  stood  quietly  listening,  her 
face  gave  no  hint  of  the  anxiety  within  her. 

"  Only  we  two  in  this  big,  lonely  house,"  she 
thought,  "  and  a  man  of  unsound  mind,  liable,  on 


134         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

any  day  or  evening,  for  that  matter,  to  knock  at 
either  of  our  three  doors  for  admittance, —  and 
Jack  —  so  far  away!  " 

She  caught  her  breath.  An  appalling  sense, 
greater  than  ever  before,  of  the  utter  loneliness 
of  the  situation,  of  their  absolute  inability  to  pro- 
tect themselves  from  any  one  who  might  choose 
to  annoy  them,  swept  over  her,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment she  could  not  speak. 

Aunt  Zilla,  believing  that  her  description  of  the 
happening  had  failed  to  impress  the  girl  because 
it  had  not  been  sufficiently  harrowing,  proceeded 
to  repeat  the  man's  alleged  prophecy,  laying  great 
stress  upon  the  fact  that  he  had  seemed  dis- 
pleased, and  that  he  had  left  the  house  muttering. 
Sylvia  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  summon  sufficient 
bravery  to  speak  boldly,  when,  suddenly,  help  came 
from  an  unexpected  quarter. 

Laddie  had  all  this  time  been  lazily  dreaming 
the  hours  away,  sprawled  luxuriously  on  a  braided 
rug  in  the  upper  hall,  whence  he  had  taken  him- 
self to  sleep  off  the  effect  of  an  over-generous 
breakfast.  He  now  appeared  in  the  doorway  be- 
side Sylvia,  rubbing  against  her,  and  looking  up  at 
her  with  eyes  that  bespoke  his  faithful  love. 

A  sense  of  having  suddenly  found  a  protector 
whom,  for  the  moment,  she  had  forgotten  dwelt 


A  PROPHET  AT  THE  DOOR      135 

beneath  the  roof,  gave  her  new  courage,  and  she 
spoke  bravely. 

'  The  man  who  so  frightened  you  may  be 
harmless,  even  if  unbalanced;  and  in  any  event, 
remember,  we  have  Laddie,  and  no  one  would 
harm  us  with  Laddie  here." 

Aunt  Zilla  looked  at  the  dog,  and  an  expression 
of  relief  passed  over  her  face,  followed,  a  second 
later,  by  a  shadow  of  doubt. 

"  I  do'no'  how  much  of  a  pertector  he'd  be," 
she  said  dubiously.  "  He  seems  too  gentle  ter 
defend  anything,  'less  it  might  be  a  bone  that  he 
didn't  want  some  other  dog  ter  git  away  from 
him,  but  he  looks  well  here,  an'  he's  got  a  power- 
ful bark.  I  declare  if  I'd  thought  of  him,  I'd 
have  called  him  out  ter  the  door  ter  int'view  the 
prophet,  an'  I'd  seen  what  he'd  do." 

Laddie's  sudden  appearance  in  the  doorway 
had  surely  cheered  them. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  REBUFF 

EARLY  morning,  dew-laden,  and  with  the 
scent  of  flowers  in  the  air,  found  Sylvia 
down  in  the  riotous  little  garden,  feeling 
happier  than  when,  from  her  chamber  window, 
she  had  looked  out  upon  the  mass  of  varied  color. 
Her  soft  muslin  gown  clung  to  her  slender  fig- 
ure, showing  its  grace,  its  rounded  beauty  as  she 
walked  slowly  up  one  weed-grown  path  and  down 
another,  gathering  the  finest  blossoms  that  there 
might  be  some  bits  of  cheering  color  in  the  gloomy 
rooms.  Always  it  had  been  her  habit  to  sing 
softly  over  little  tasks,  but  she  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  to  sing.  There  was  no  piano  in  the 
old  house,  but  had  there  been  one,  she  was  hardly 
in  the  mood  for  music.  One  sings  when  light- 
hearted,  and  Sylvia  Durant  had  not  been  truly 
light-hearted  since  "  The  Three  Birches "  had 
sheltered  her.  Now  that  Jack  had  come  and 
gone;  gone,  and  without  a  word  from  her  at  part- 
ing because,  in  her  extreme  weariness  of  mind  and 

136 


A  REBUFF  137 

body,  she  had  overslept,  she  was  more  lonely 
than  before. 

What  was  life  without  Jack?  Tears  filled  the 
sweet  eyes,  brimmed  over,  and  plashed  upon  the 
flowers  in  her  hand. 

"How-d'yedo!" 

"  Oh,  who  can  that  be,  and  to  have  caught  me 
crying!  "  she  thought,  and  bending  yet  lower  over 
the  flowers  she  seemed  not  to  have  heard. 

"  Good  morning." 

This  time  it  was  useless  to  pretend  that  she  did 
not  hear,  unless  she  wished  to  imply  that  she  was 
stone-deaf,  for  the  words  were  clearly  spoken. 
She  turned  to  reply.  It  was  fortunate  that  Luke 
Elmore  was  not  sensitive,  for  surely  the  expres- 
sion that  followed  the  first  glance  of  surprise  on 
Sylvia's  face  was  not  one  of  delight. 

"  Good  morning,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and 
continued  gathering  flowers,  as  if  she  expected  him 
to  pass. 

"  I  came  to  ask  if  I  might  take  you  for  a  drive 
this  afternoon?  " 

He  saw  the  quick  flush  on  her  cheek,  and 
added:  "Oh,  not  because  I  think  my  company 
would  give  you  great  pleasure,  but  because  there 
are  parts  of  Blossomville  that  are  prettier  than 
this,  and  as  they  are  too  far  from  here  for  a 


138         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

walk,  I  asked  you  to  make  the  little  trip  in  my 
buggy." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  "  but  I  cannot  go.  I 
have  something  that  I  must  do  this  afternoon." 

She  disliked  the  man,  and  found  it  difficult  to 
hide  her  disgust  for  his  abundant  confidence,  his 
persistence  at  times  when  it  seemed  incredible  that 
he  could  not  realize  that  his  attention  vexed  her. 
Hunger  for  Jack,  grieving  because  apart  from 
him,  made  Elmore's  persistence  almost  unbear- 
able. It  was  impossible  to  discourage  him. 
Rarely  was  there  a  day  that  he  did  not  loiter  in 
passing. 

Usually  he  remained  to  chat.  His  first  ad- 
vances had  been  made,  he  had  declared,  in  neigh- 
borly spirit.  He  had  professed  great  sympathy 
with  their  loneliness,  and  fear  in  the  old  house. 
He  had  listened  with  apparent  interest  to  Aunt 
Zilla's  complaining  of  the  terrifying  noises  that 
she  declared  kept  her  "  nerves  on  the  jump."  He 
had  searched  the  premises  in  the  hope  of  finding 
the  cause  of  the  disturbing  sounds  that  had 
earned  for  the  "  Three  Birches  "  the  reputation 
of  being  haunted.  These  efforts  had  won  for 
him  the  approval  of  Aunt  Zilla.  Sylvia  had  at 
first  felt  very  grateful  for  his  many  kindly  acts, 
but  when  it  became  only  too  evident  that  his  neigh- 


A  REBUFF  139 

borly  interest  was  assumed  for  the  sole  purpose 
of  forcing  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with  her- 
self, she  drew  back,  and  thereafter,  when  he  came 
in  for  a  "  neighborly  call,"  he  had  the  uninter- 
rupted opportunity  of  being  as  neighborly  as  he 
liked  with  Aunt  Zilla. 

Sylvia  was  determined  not  to  be  openly  rude 
to  man,  woman,  or  child  whom  she  might  chance 
to  meet  in  Blossomville,  but  she  was  equally  de- 
termined to  repulse  any  curious  questioner,  and  to 
the  doughty  squire  to  turn  the  cold  shoulder  per- 
sistently. Therefore,  when  the  basket  that  hung 
from  her  arm  was  well  filled  with  the  flowers  that 
she  had  been  gathering,  she  turned  toward  Elmore, 
who,  still  leaning  upon  the  fence,  had  been  ad- 
miringly regarding  her,  and  said  coolly :  ;'  I 
am  going  in  now  to  arrange  these  flowers,  and 
there  are  other  things  I  must  do.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

She  went  slowly  up  the  path  to  the  porch.  He 
should  not  accuse  her  of  childishly  running  away. 

He  regarded  her  in  amazement.  It  was  un- 
believable that  there  existed  a  girl  who  would 
not  welcome  —  nay,  be  eager  for  any  attention 
that  he  might  choose  to  bestow. 

"What  have  I  done?"  he  asked  as  an  over- 
grown lad  might  have  asked  it. 


140        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  she  said,  not  pausing, 
but  looking  over  her  shoulder  as  she  neared  the 
porch,  "  but  I  must  go  in  now." 

He  laughed.  "  I  feel  as  if  /  must,  too,"  with 
a  clumsy  effort  to  take  the  evident  rebuff  play- 
fully. 

"I  have  some  letters  to  write,"  she  said; 
"  Good  morning." 

He  watched  the  graceful  figure  as  it  ascended 
the  steps,  crossed  the  porch,  and  vanished  in  the 
hall,  the  great  door  swinging  to,  but  not  latching. 

Vaguely  he  wondered  if  she  would  relent,  and 
return  to  the  porch  for  a  word  with  him,  lest  her 
coolness  might  lose  for  her  his  friendship. 
From  the  time  that  he  had  scraped  together  the 
small  sum  that  had  purchased  a  tiny  farm  to  the 
present  time,  when  he  held  the  coveted  reputation 
of  being  the  one  moneyed  man  of  Blossomville, 
he  had  been  flattered  by  his  neighbors,  until  he 
believed  his  friendship  to  be  a  priceless  boon  that 
he  could  bestow  or  withhold  at  will,  thus  causing 
unspeakable  happiness  or  absolute  despair. 

Believing  the  old  house  to  be  Sylvia's  sole  in- 
heritance, he  considered  that  the  girl  was  reck- 
lessly standing  in  her  own  light.  That  she  cared 
for  another  never  entered  his  stolid  mind.  Her 
slender  left  hand  wore  no  emblem  to  show  that  her 


A  REBUFF  141 

heart  was  pledged  to  another;  therefore,  he  had 
never  questioned  if  she  were  free.  His  was  a 
stubborn  nature,  used  to  carrying  out  whatever  his 
mind  conceived  to  be  to  his  advantage. 

Probably  if  a  rumor  of  her  love  for  Stanwood 
had  reached  him,  it  would  not  have  prevented  a 
determination  upon  his  part  to  win  her.  He  had 
come  to  believe  that  because  he  had  succeeded  in 
one  thing,  nothing  existed  that  he  could  not  con- 
quer and  make  his  own. 

Looking  up  from  the  desk  where  she  sat  writ- 
ing, Sylvia  was  amazed  and  angry  to  see  the 
Squire,  still  leaning  upon  the  fence,  and  looking 
toward  the  house.  The  letter,  a  rather  long  one, 
written  in  reply  to  one  from  her  lawyer,  was 
nearly  finished,  and  she  had  intended  taking  it  at 
once  to  the  office.  Again  she  glanced  toward  the 
window  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  From  where 
she  sat  he  could  not  see  her.  Sylvia  realized  that 
he  was  hoping  that,  if  he  waited  patiently,  she 
might  reappear. 

"  This  ought  to  be  mailed  at  once,"  she  whis- 
pered; then  with  a  smart  tap  of  her  little  foot,  she 
added:  "  but  I  won't  go  out  to  mail  it  while  he's 
out  there,  if  I  have  to  wait  all  day.  He'd  tramp 
all  the  way  to  the  store  and  back  again  with  me, 
and  I  can't  bear  that." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

BUSYBODIES 

THE  dusty  road  gleamed  white  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  high  blueberries  that  grew 
in  the  field  beyond  turned  their  bloom- 
covered  berries  to  court  its  rays,  or  to  attract  the 
attention  of  two  old  women  who  were  working  as 
if  in  frantic  haste  to  fill  their  pails. 

A  long  time  they  had  picked  in  silence,  the  drop- 
ping of  the  berries  upon  the  bottom  of  their  tin 
pails  making  a  lonesome  note,  the  only  sound  that 
broke  the  stillness. 

The  heat  was  intense. 

A  great  crow  flew  cawing  overhead,  but  the 
smaller  birds  were  silent.  A  hot  breeze,  laden 
with  the  fragrance  of  the  pines  on  a  little  distant 
knoll  swept  across  the  field,  and  blew  back  the 
flapping  brim  of  the  sunbonnet  from  the  face  of 
the  one  who  was  apparently  the  elder  of  the  two, 
showing  a  thin  dark  countenance  lighted  by  a  pair 
of  bright  black  eyes,  whose  expression  of  cunning, 

142 


BUSYBODIES  143 

together  with  the  thin-lipped,  tightly  closed  mouth, 
gave  a  face  which  was  rather  unpleasant  to  con- 
template. 

The  other  woman,  as  she  turned  to  drop  an- 
other handful  of  berries  into  her  pail,  glanced  at 
her  companion  with  a  look  of  mingled  curiosity 
and  impatience.  She  was  a  stout,  elderly  woman 
with  a  mild,  characterless  face,  whose  only  expres- 
sion, if  it  could  be  said  to  have  any,  was  that  of  in- 
quisitiveness  that  had  long  been  chronic. 

After  waiting  with  ill-concealed  annoyance,  she 
extended  a  pudgy  fore-finger,  and  poking  it  directly 
under  the  brim  of  her  companion's  sunbonnet, 
ejaculated:  "  Dorcas  Dale,  be  ye  asleep,  er  hev 
ye  forgot  what  ye  was  goin'  ter  tell  me?  " 

"  I  wa'n't  asleep,  an'  I  hain't  forgot  what  I  had 
ter  tell.  I  was  jest  waitin'  till  I'd  got  good'n' 
ready,"  snapped  the  offended  Dorcas. 

"  No  'fense,  I'm  sure,"  was  the  answer,  "  only 
I  thought  I'd  like  ter  hear  it,  whatever  'twas." 

The  older  woman,  somewhat  mollified,  hung 
her  pail  on  a  short  sturdy  twig,  and  facing  about 
remarked:  "  'P'raps  it  won't  be  new  ter  ye,  that 
the  '  Three  Birches,'  has  got  a  tenant,  but  I'll  bet 
ye  hain't  seen  'em  yet,  an'  I  hev!  " 

"  I  know  they's  a  gal,  an'  a  skinny  woman,  but 
haow  they  ever  dared  ter  come  there,  or  hevin' 


H4         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

arriv',  haow  they  darest  ter  stay  beats  me,"  was 
the  answer,  "  but  that  ain't  news,  Dorcas,  fer 
we've  known  that  since  we  heared  it  the  day  after 
they  fust  come." 

Her  voice  bespoke  disappointment.  She  had 
expected  a  rare  bit  of  gossip. 

"  What  I  jest  said  ain't  news,  but  what  I've 
got  ter  tell  is!  The  gal  is  a  beauty,  an'  the  thin 
woman  looks  ekal  ter  the  job  er  keepin'  house  fer 
her,  which  is  likely  what  she's  there  fer,  an'  they 
do  say  Squire  Luke  Elmore  is  jest  tremenjous 
taken  with  her,"  Dorcas  concluded. 

"  With  which,  Dorcas?  "  whined  the  other  im- 
patiently. 

"  With  the  gal,  an'  Keziah,  they  do  say  the  gal 
ain't  at  all  took  with  him." 

"Well,  why  should  she  be?"  Keziah  asked 
coolly.  "  He's  middlin'  plain." 

"  He's  got  means!  "  cried  Dorcas,  with  as  de- 
termined a  voice  as  if  lack  of  admiration  for  the 
Squire  were  a  personal  injury  to  herself. 

"  Means!  "  drawled  Keziah.  "  Why,  Dorcas, 
a  pretty  gal  likes  money,  of  course.  The  two 
seem  ter  go  tergether,  but  if  she  has  ter  choose 
one  or  t'other,  she'll  choose  the  poor  feller  what's 
some  takin',  an'  let  the  dull  clumsy  feller  with 
the  money  slide !  But,  say !  Don't  ye  wonder 


BUSYBODIES  145 

if  they  ain't  scaret  with  the  noises  that  folks  keeps 
tellin'  is  soundin'  there  jest  continooal?  " 

"  Everybody  ain't  as  sup'stitious  as  you  be," 
retorted  Dorcas,  "  but  speakin'  fer  myself,  I  can't 
say  I  should  hanker  ter  stop  there  over  night." 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Keziah,  her  colorless  eyes 
showing  absolute  terror  at  the  thought. 

"  'Twa'n't  more'n  three  months  ago  that  ol' 
Abram  Frickson  was  passin'  there  at  twilight," 
she  continued,  "  an'  he  heared  all  sorts  o'  noises 
comin'  from  garret  to  cellar,  an'  tho'  he  had  con- 
sid'ble  rheumatiz,  he  cut  fer  home  like  mad,  an' 
he  ain't  walked  past  there  since.  'Bout  a  week 
before  these  folks  ye're  talkin'  of  moved  in,  Zeke 
Johnson's  boy  was  up  by  there,  a-drivin'  one  o' 
the  cows  home  that  had  strayed  away,  an'  he  seen 
lights  'way  up  in  the  cupelow,  an'  he  licked  that 
cow,  an'  they  made  fer  home  at  'bout  the  same 
speed  that  ol'  Frickson  did,  an'  the  neighbors  say 
ye  couldn't  tell  when  they  reached  home,  which 
was  the  most  scaret  —  the  boy  or  the  cow.  I 
tell  ye,  I  wouldn't  go  nigh  that  place  fer  any- 
thing." 

'  Wai,  I  would,  an'  I'm  go'm'  ter!  "  announced 
Dorcas. 

"Ye  don't  mean  it!"  her  sister  cried.  "Ye 
wouldn't  never  dare  ventur  there." 


146         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Yes  I  would,  as  I  said  afore,"  Dorcas  re- 
torted sharply,  "  an'  I'm  goin'  up  there  ter  call  an' 
see  her,  no  them,  jest  as  soon  as  I  git  my  best 
dress  done  that  I'm  turnin'  an'  makin'  over  as  I 
git  time." 

''  What  be  ye  goin'  fer? "  Keziah  ven- 
tured mildly,  adding  with  more  spirit:  "They 
mightn't  be  int'rested  ter  see  ye." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  'cause  I  think  they're  achin'  ter 
see  me,"  was  the  cool  response.  "  I'm  goin'  ter 
see  what  the  gal  looks  like  that  knocked  Luke 
Elmore  all  of  a  heap.  He's  been  needin'  some 
er  the  starch  taken  out'n  him  fer  some  time,  'n' 
I've  always  been  'bout  wild  ter  see  the  inside  er 
that  old  house.  Old  Mrs.  Durant,  when  she 
lived  there,  didn't  want  ter  know  any  er  the 
Blossomville  res'dents,  an'  she  didn't  spare  nary 
effort  that  would  make  'em  r^lize  that  callers 
wouldn't  be  welcome." 

"  I'm  as  curus  ter  see  the  inside  o'  the  '  Three 
Birches  '  as  you  be,  but  there  ain't  nothin'  that 
could  tempt  me  ter  ventur  inside  the  door." 

Dorcas  turned  toward  her  sister  a-  face  that 
definitely  expressed  her  disgust. 

"  I  guess  I'm  ekal  ter  goin'  alone,  ef  I  see  fit," 
she  said  coolly,  "  an'  this  I'll  .tell  ye :  Ef  my 
dress  is  done  by  Saturday,  I  shall  put  it  on,  an'  go 


BUSYBODIES  147 

straight  over  there  ter  make  a  call  on  'em,  sure's 
my  name's  Dorcas  Dale !  " 

Keziah  felt  that  something  must  be  done  to 
dissuade  her  sister  from  running  the  fearful  risk 
of  entering  the  old  house  that  all  Blossomville 
believed  to  be  haunted.  With  much  effort  she 
bent  her  bulky  form  that  she  might  set  her  pail 
upon  the  grass,  then  straightened  up,  and  laying 
her  hand  upon  her  sister's  arm,  spoke  more  ear- 
nestly than  before.  "  Look  here,  Dorcas,  I  wish 
ye'd  give  up  the  notion  'bout  makin'  that  call. 
There  ain't  no  use  in  it,  an'  I  don't  want  ye 
harmed.  Ye  know  the  last  pusson  that  went 
there,  afore  these  new  folks  come,  was  ol'  Bar- 
bara, that  ol'  What's-his-name,  the  lawyer,  sent  ter 
clean  the  place  up  after  Mis'  Durant,  what  up 
an'  died,  had  went.  I  guess  nobody  hain't  fergot 
what  happened.  Ol'  Barbara  went  in,  jest 
shiverin'  with  fear.  Bein'  some  orderly,  she 
meant  ter  start  at  the  attic,  an'  clean  clear  through 
down  ter  the  cellar,  but  she  didn't,  an'  ye  well 
know  why.  The  attic  was  full  o'  bats,  an'  one 
on' em  flew  off  with  her  wig,  an'  she  raced  from 
the  house,  an'  went  tearin'  up  the  road,  bare- 
headed as  ol'  Deacon  Leffinton,  nary  a  spear  o' 
hair  on  her  head,  an'  her  a  screamin'  an'  cryin' 
that  a  witch  was  after  her." 


148         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  As  I  ain't  wearin'  a  wig,  it  stands  ter  reason 
I  ain't  'fraid  er  losin'  one,  an'  I'm  jest  de-tar- 
mined  ter  call  there !  "  Dorcas  replied  stoutly. 

"  Wai,  I  wish  ye  joy!  "  cried  Keziah,  angrily, 
annoyed  that  her  advice  had  made  no  impression. 

For  a  long  time  neither  woman  spoke,  each 
applying  herself  to  the  task  of  filling  her  pail, 
until  suddenly  the  sound  of  wheels  approaching 
attracted  their  attention,  and  Keziah  turned  her 
bulky  form  around  so  hastily  that  she  hit  her  pail, 
and  barely  escaped  spilling  her  berries. 

"  Good  land !  It's  nothin'  but  the  coach,  with 
Jim  Jimson  atop  of  it.  By  the  way  ye  nudged 
me  ter  look  at  it,  I  didn't  s'pose  it  was  anything 
less'n  somebody's  shay!" 

"Did  ye  see  the  gal  in  it?"  Dorcas  asked 
eagerly.  "Di</ye?" 

"  I  didn't  notice  nobody  but  Jim  Jimson,  an' 
I  all  but  spilt  my  blueberries  a-doin'  that.  What 
gal  was  aridin'  in  the  coach?  " 

"  Sylvia  Durant,  the  one  I've  been  tellin'  ye 
lives  at  '  The  Three  Birches.'  I  declare  I  do 
wish  ye'd  seen  her." 

"  It's  likely  I  will  sooner  or  later,"  Keziah  re- 
plied calmly,  u  an'  whatever  she  looks  like,  I 
wouldn't  go  inside  that  house  ter  see  her,  I  kin 
tell  ye  that." 


BUSYBODIES  149 

"  There  ain't  no  call  fer  ye  ter  go  if  ye  don't 
want  ter,"  Dorcas  said  curtly,  and  the  two  re- 
turned to  their  berry  picking,  working  for  a  long 
time  in  silence. 

When  their  pails  were  filled,  they  left  the  field, 
and  still  silent,  trudged  along  the  road  toward 
home,  Dorcas  walking  with  her  habitually  reso- 
lute tread;  her  sister,  with  slow,  plodding  steps 
that  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  keep  up. 

Arrived  at  their  cottage  door,  Dorcas  drew  a 
key  from  her  capacious  pocket,  and  turning  it  in 
the  lock,  allowed  her  sister  to  pass  in  first;  then 
following  her,  she  locked  and  bolted  the  little 
door,  and  sighed  with  satisfaction,  as  if  with  a 
feeling  of  security  in  their  tiny  domicile.  Later, 
when  the  table  was  set,  the  two  old  women  sat 
down  to  a  frugal  meal.  One  might  have  thought 
that  they  had  forgotten  how  to  talk,  for  in  si- 
lence they  ate  their  toast  and  drank  their  tea. 
At  last  Keziah  spoke. 

"  Dorcas,  be  ye  still  thinkin'  o'  the  ol'  house, 
an'  the  gal  what's  livin'  there?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  be,  an'  so  be  you,  er  ye  wouldn't  think 
ter  ask  it,"  Dorcas  answered.  '  I  was  jest 
thinkin',"  she  continued,  "  'bout  a  story  that's 
been  circ'latin'  round  the  town  ever  sence  some 
time  before  the  gal,  Sylvia,  come  there  ter  live. 


150        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

It's  'bout  the  room  on  the  far  side  o'  the  house 
right  next  ter  the  side  door  where  the  swingin' 
sign  hangs  out  an'  squawks  every  time  the  wind 
wags  it." 

Keziah's  eyes  were  eager,  and  she  leaned  for- 
ward to  catch  every  word. 

"  They  do  say  that  in  that  'ere  room  they  is 
fearful  things,  an'  there  don't  nobody  know 
what.  The  fact  that  it's  nailed  up  makes  every 
one  in  Blossomville  'bout  wild  ter  find  out  what's 
in  there." 

"  Ef  ye  go  there,  fer  massy  sake  git  a  peep  inter 
that  room,  Dorcas,  an'  tell  me  what  ye  seen?  " 

"  How  on  airth  am  I  ter  git  a  peep  inter  a 
room  what's  nailed  up?"  questioned  Dorcas  in 
disgust. 

"  Then  what's  the  use'n  goin'  'f  ye  ain't  goin' 
ter  see  nothin'  whilst  ye're  there?  " 


CHAPTER  XX 

FOOD   FOR   GOSSIP 

ALTHOUGH  aware  that  the  smallest  hap- 
pening in  Blossomville  was  considered  an 
event,  that  motiveless  acts  were  talked  of 
in  a  manner  that  gave  them  undue  importance,  it 
did  not  occur  to  Sylvia  that  the  fact  that  she  rode 
home  from  the  village  store  in  the  stage-coach 
would  set  tongues  wagging,  but  it  did. 

She  had  gone  over  to  the  office  for  the  mail,  and 
had  promised  herself  a  short  rest,  and  a  chat  at 
the  Wiley  farm  on  the  way  back.  The  heat  had 
been  intense,  the  walk  longer  than  usual,  and 
when,  with  her  letters  in  her  hand,  she  left  the 
store,  it  seemed  to  her,  that  the  long  walk  back  to 
the  "  Three  Birches  "  would  be  unendurable. 

Outside  the  store  the  sun  beat  down  upon  the 
dusty  road,  and  the  group  that  usually  hung 
around  the  "  office  "  took  note  of  Sylvia's  bright 
hair,  the  spotless  white  of  her  gown,  her  trim 
figure, —  was  there  anything  that  was  not  men- 
tioned? As  she  turned  to  cross  the  road,  she 

151 


152        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

came  face  to  face  with  the  Squire  who  was  on 
his  way  to  the  post-office. 

His  face  flushed  with  pleasure  as  he  greeted  her. 
He  seemed  never  to  notice  a  lack  of  enthusiasm 
upon  her  part.  Did  he  think  it  natural  reserve, 
or  was  he  determined  to  ignore  it? 

Sylvia  saw  that  he  at  once  turned,  without  hav- 
ing called  for  his  mail,  evidently  intending  to  walk 
back  with  her,  and  —  yes,  without  doubt,  to  linger 
in  the  little  garden,  or  on  the  porch  for  one  of  his 
tedious  calls. 

A  shout  from  Jim  Jimson,  and  the  sound  of 
wheels  announced  the  arrival  of  the  stage-coach. 
Sylvia  saw  a  chance  of  escape. 

"  If  you  are  going  past  the  house,"  she  said 
looking  up  at  Jimson,  "  I  think  I'll  let  you  take  me 
home.  I  am  tired,  and  it  is  a  long  walk." 

"  Sure,  I'll  take  ye,  Miss  Sylvia,  an'  'twon't 
cost  ye  nothin'  seein's  I'm  goin'  by  there  any- 
how." 

She  laughed,  sprang  into  the  coach,  turned  and 
nodded  coolly  to  the  discomfited  Squire,  and 
was  off  down  the  road,  the  sole  occupant  of 
the  old  coach  which  rocked  from  side  to  side  as 
if  it  really  enjoyed  running  away  with  Sylvia,  and 
believed  itself  to  be  perpetrating  a  good  joke. 

Luke    Elmore    stood   staring   at   the    receding 


FOOD  FOR  GOSSIP  153 

coach,  his  eyes  wide  with  astonishment  as  if  he 
barely  comprehended  how  the  thing  had  hap- 
pened. 

"Wa'n't  that  pretty  slick?"  questioned  Nat 
Gates,  with  a  chuckle. 

'  The  Squire  has  had  a  idee  that  any  gal  he 
see  fit  ter  notice  would  be  tickled  ter  death,"  said 
a  young  farmer  who  had  long  envied  Luke  El- 
more's  prosperity. 

"  I  guess  'most  any  of  the  Blossomville  gals 
would  walk  from  Dan  ter  Beersheby  ef  Elmore'd 
walk  with  'em,"  Nat  Gates  responded,  "  but  a 
city  gal  like  Miss  Sylvia  has  doubtless  seen  quite  a 
number  o'  men  better-lookin'  than  him.  Not  but 
what  he  looks  well  'nough,  but  he  ain't  what  I'd 
call  takin',  ef  I  was  a  gal." 

"  Oh,  ye  ain't  a  gal,  so  haow  d'ye  know  what 
sort  er  chap  ye'd  be  took  with  ef  ye  was?'" 
queried  a  young  fellow  who  had  just  entered,  and 
Nat's  response  was  drowned  in  shouts  of  laughter. 

There  were  valuable  papers  for  which  Luke 
Elmore  had  been  anxiously  waiting,  and  he  be- 
lieved that  they  had  already  arrived  at  the  office, 
but  the  crowd  of  habitual  loafers  had  seen  his  dis- 
comfiture, and  he  decided  to  send  one  of  his  farm- 
hands over  later  for  his  mail,  rather  than  enter 
the  store  where  all  eyes  would  be  turned  upon 


154        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

him.  He  was  a  bit  disheartened,  but  not  dis- 
couraged. A  little  time,  and  his  persistence 
would  be  rewarded,  he  believed. 

In  the  old  coach,  rocking  and  swaying  with 
the  antic  galloping  of  the  lean  sorrel  nags,  Sylvia 
congratulated  herself  on  having  so  easily  escaped 
the  long  walk  home  attended  by  the  Squire.  His 
clumsy  efforts  at  badinage,  his  compliments,  his 
ardent  speeches  were  tiresome  to  a  degree  that 
bored  Sylvia  almost  beyond  endurance.  Often 
she  had  longed  to  silence  him  by  telling  him 
frankly  that  she  was  pledged  to  another,  and  that, 
for  that  reason,  his  attention  was  not  only  idle, 
but  annoying,  but  always  before  the  words  were 
uttered  would  come  the  thoughts  that  daily 
haunted  her:  "Does  Jack  hold  me  to  that 
pledge?  He  is  angry  with  me  now,  and  he  is  si- 
lent. Am  I  still  his?"  She  knew,  too,  that  a 
man  of  Elmore's  stamp  would  question  her 
closely;  would  ask,  if  it  were  an  actual  engage- 
ment, why  no  ring  proclaimed  the  pledge  ?  Why 
her  fiance,  if  such  he  was,  never  was  seen  in  the 
village;  and  countless  other  questions  that  she 
could  not,  and  would  not  answer. 

It  would  be  wiser,  she  believed,  to  avoid  him, 
whenever  possible  to  do  so,  to  appear  as  if  in- 
capable of  understanding  his  bold  hints  of  his 


FOOD  FOR  GOSSIP  155 

regard  for  her,  and,  above  all  things,  to  tell  him 
absolutely  nothing  of  her  affairs,  or  herself. 

"Whaow!  Can't  ye?"  shouted  Jim  Jimson 
as  they  reached  the  house.  "  Take's  all  the 
whack  I  got  ter  git  them  critters  started,  an'  I  vum 
it's  nigh  impossible  ter  stop  'em  when  they  once 
git  goin'.  Whaow  I  " 

The  yellow  door  flew  open,  and  Sylvia  sprang 
to  the  ground. 

"  No  use,  Miss  Sylvy,"  cried  the  driver,  as  he 
saw  her  open  her  little  purse.  ;'  I  don't  want 
no  pay  fer  the  pleasure  er  bringin'  ye  home,  an' 
savin'  ye  a  good  half-hour  of  the  Squire's  talk, 
an'  likely  more.  All  the  pay  I  want  is  the  chance 
ter  give  ye  a  lift  'nother  time  when  some  one  is 
tryin'  ter  pester  ye  with  his  comp'ny  uninvited. 
G'lang!  " 

He  was  off  on  his  lurching  trip  down  the  road 
before  she  could  thank  him. 

Laddie  whined  a  welcome  through  the  pickets 
of  the  fence,  and  pranced  wildly  about  as  she 
pushed  the  gate  open,  to  express  his  great  delight 
at  her  return. 

"  I  must  take  you  with  me  next  time,"  she 
whispered,  as  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  head. 

From  the  first  Aunt  Zilla  had  called  the  town 
and  its  people  "  newsy."  She  had  been  disgusted 


156         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

with  the  wild  interest  that  her  arrival  with 
Sylvia  had  provoked,  and  with  the  persistent  ef- 
forts of  the  residents  to  "  pump  "  her.  To  all 
she  had  given  the  briefest  of  replies,  thereby 
earning  the  reputation  of  being  "  close-mouthed." 
One  who  had  vainly  tried  to  question  her  retal- 
iated by  telling  her  this. 

"  I'd  'nough  sight  prefer  folks  here  would  call 
me  '  close-mouthed,'  than  ter  hev  them  say  my 
mouth  was  always  open,"  she  had  responded,  and 
thus  had  closed  the  interview.  What  would  she 
have  thought  had  she  known  that  before  Sylvia 
had  reached  home,  the  news  that  she  "  rid  home 
in  the  coach  instead  er  walkin' ;  an'  she  done  it  ter 
dodge  the  Squire,  an'  he,  completely  floored,  stood 
a-lookin'  after  the  coach  as  it  dis'peared  behind  the 
willers  at  the  curve  o'  the  road!  " 

Even  the  two  old  berry-pickers  had  caught  the 
fever  of  curiosity,  and  the  braver  of  the  two  was 
already  planning  a  fitting  costume  with  which  she 
might  appear  at  the  door  of  "  The  Three 
Birches,"  and  knock  for  admittance. 

Sylvia,  for  the  first  time,  glanced  at  the  three 
envelopes  that  thus  far  she  had  held  tightly 
clasped  in  her  hand.  Laddie  watched  her  face  as 
closely  as  if  he  hoped  to  learn  by  her  expression 


FOOD  FOR  GOSSIP  157 

if  the  writing  on  the  envelopes  were  familiar,  and 
if  the  arrival  of  the  letters  gave  her  pleasure. 
She  walked  slowly  up  the  path,  Laddie  close  beside 
her,  and  the  two  entered  the  living-room,  Sylvia 
taking  a  low  chair  by  the  window,  and  the  dog 
dropping  upon  the  floor  beside  her,  his  soft  eyes 
looking  up  at  her,  admiring  and  watchful. 

The  first  envelope  contained  only  a  notice  of  a 
sale  of  fashionable  millinery,  and  Sylvia  smiled  as 
she  thought  how  little  money  need  be  expended 
for  millinery  if  one  resided  in  Blossomville.  She 
wondered  how  Madame  Morene  had  obtained 
the  present  address  of  her  former  customer,  Sylvia 
Durant,  but  caring  little,  laid  the  envelope  and 
card  upon  the  table,  and  opened  the  next. 

"Aunt  Daphne  Van  Horn!"   she  exclaimed, 

'What  can  have  moved  her  to  write?"     The 

date,  written  with  great  care,  "  My  dear  Sylvia," 

penned  with  even  greater  evidence  of  painstaking, 

and  then : 

'  You  will  be  surprised  to  hear  from  me,  I  am 
sure,  but  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  write  to  you  at  this 
time,  because  I  believe  that  long  before  this  you 
have  regretted  your  folly  in  leaving  the  fine  home 
that  was  yours,  so  long  as  you  chose  to  comply 
with  my  wishes.  You  were  willful,  and  heedless 
of  consequences,  and  it  must  be  that  to-day  you 
would  be  glad  to  return  to  me.  For  myself,  I 


158         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

will  say  that  I  miss  you,  and  that,  in  part,  is  a  rea- 
son for  my  invitation  that  bids  you  return  to  all 
the  comfort  and  luxury  that  my  home  has  ever 
afforded  you. 

"  There  is  another  reason  for  this  letter  with 
its  plea  that  you  return,  and  that  is  the  very  un- 
pleasant comments  that  your  course  has  set  in 
circulation. 

"  I  am  accused  of  having  turned  you  from  my 
door,  of  having  made  an  exile  of  you,  by  banish- 
ing you  from  polite  society,  and  forcing  you  to 
live  in  that  house  in  which  my  sister  Sylvia  spent 
her  last  years,  and,  as  a  glorious  heritage,  willed 
to  you. 

"  Fancy  forcing  a  Durant  to  do  anything!  I 
did  not  think  I  would  ever  ask  you  to  return  if,  of 
your  own  volition,  you  left  me;  but  now  I  give 
you  the  invitation.  It  is  for  you  to  accept,  or 
decline.  Awaiting  your  reply  I  am, 

"  Your  faithful  Aunt, 
"  DAPHNE  VAN  HORNE." 

Sylvia  laid  the  letter  on  the  table,  just  as  she 
had  placed  the  milliner's  card,  and  opened  the 
third  envelope.  It  proved  to  be  a  hastily  written 
note,  and  was  brief  and  to  the  point: 

"  DEAR  SYLVIA  : 

"  Not  having  received  any  response  to  my  let- 
ter written  some  time  since,  I  am  wondering  if 
possibly  you  are  ill.  Don't  bother  to  reply  to  this 
hasty  note,  as  I  shall  take  a  little  trip  to  your  re- 
treat, and  look  in  upon  you. 


FOOD  FOR  GOSSIP  159 

"  Anticipating  the  pleasure  of  being  with  you, 
and  enjoying  a  long,  delightful  chat,  I  am, 
"  Sincerely  your  friend, 

"  IRMA  DELWIN." 

"  '  Sincerely  my  friend  '?  What  does  it  mean? 
Once  before  she  has  written  to  me,  taking  the  op- 
portunity to  tell  me  things  that,  if  true,  could 
hardly  give  me  pleasure;  and  now,  although  that 
letter  was  not  in  any  way  acknowledged,  she  writes 
again.  I  had  only  a  slight  acquaintance  with  her, 
when  I  was  with  Aunt  Daphne.  What  prompts 
her  now  to  take  the  long  trip  to  come  to  this  place, 
solely  for  the  pleasure  of  a  call  upon  me?  " 

These  were  the  disturbing  thoughts  that  flitted 
through  Sylvia's  mind,  and  a  strange  sense  of  un- 
easiness came  over  her. 

Vaguely  she  felt  that  something  stronger  than 
an  idle  whim  impelled  Irma  Delwin  to  leave  her 
beautiful  summer  home,  her  friends,  her  pleasures 
for  a  trip  to  an  isolated  country  house  and  a  lonely 
girl  who,  for  a  time,  was  living  there. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A    VOICE    FROM   THE   TREETOPS 

AUNT  ZILLA  appearing  in  the  doorway, 
espied  the  letters  lying  on  the  table;  and 
Sylvia,  her  hands  listlessly  clasped,  and 
her  head  bent  as  if  she  were  in  a  brown  study. 

"Didn't  they  cheer  ye?"  Aunt  Zilla  asked 
kindly. 

She  loved  the  girl,  and,  now  that  she  under- 
stood her  motive,  sympathized  with  her  in  her  de- 
termination to  abide  by  the  terms  of  the  will,  and 
win  the  legacy. 

"  There  was  nothing  in  them  that  could  cheer 
me,"  Sylvia  said.  "  One  was  a  card  from  Ma- 
dame Morene  who  used  to  make  my  hats  when 
Aunt  Daphne  paid  for  them.  I've  no  use  for  fine 
millinery  here,  and  that  is  fortunate  since  I  surely 
have  no  money  to  squander.  One  was  from  Aunt 
Daphne,  urging  me  to  come  back  to  her." 

"  That  was  kind,  I'm  sure,  an'  wonderful  in 
her  ter  do  it,  seein's  she  really  turned  ye  out, 
an'  her  a  willful  spec'men  what  almost  never  takes 

160 


FROM  THE  TREETOPS         161 

back  anything  she's  said,  or  gives  in  in  any  way. 
I  call  her  kind  o'  gen'rous.  Don't  you?" 

"Generous!"  cried  Sylvia,  as  if  scorn  had 
aroused  her.  "Generous!"  she  repeated. 
"  She  asks  me  to  return  because  there  are  times 
when  a  lull  in  festivities  causes  a  few  dull  hours 
for  her.  Then,  and  then  only,  does  she  feel  the 
need  of  me.  Her  strongest  reason  for  recalling 
me,  however,  is  that  the  story  is  being  circulated 
among  those  with  whom  she  is  most  intimate, 
representing  her  as  having  turned  me  from  her 
home,  and  compelled  me  to  live  in  this  lonely 
place." 

"  Ye  wouldn't  go  back  to  her,  Sylvia,  so  of 
course  the  letter  only  stirs  ye  up,"  Aunt  Zilla  said 
gently. 

"  And  the  third  envelope  contained  a  brief 
note  from  Irma  Delwin,  a  girl  with  whom  I  am 
barely  acquainted,  who  once  before  had  written 
to  me,  and  who  now  declares  that  she  is  coming 
here  to  call  upon  me.  Coming  to  look  this  shabby 
old  house  all  over,  to  pretend  regret  for  my  lone- 
liness, to  make  me  in  some  way  less  happy  than 
I  now  am.  Oh,  Aunt  Zilla,  why  couldn't  they  let 
me  alone?  Aunt  Daphne  will  be  more  angry 
than  before,  and  Irma  will  go  back  to  tell  every 
one  who  knows  me,  how  dull  a  life  I'm  living, 


162         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

how  dilapidated  the  house  is,  and  the  description 
given  by  her  will  lose  nothing  in  the  recital." 

"  I  remember  ye  wasn't  over-pleased  with  the 
letter  some  one  sent,  but  I  didn't  remember  what 
her  name  was,"  Aunt  Zilla  said;  then,  as  if  to 
comfort  her  she  added:  "  Don't  worry,  Sylvia. 
Like  'nough  she's  such  a  careless  butterfly,  she'll 
be  so  full  of  good  times  where  she  is,  that  all 
thought  of  a  trip  here  was  out  of  her  mind  before 
the  letter  was  mailed." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I'd  do  without  you,  Aunt 
Zilla,"  Sylvia  said  gratefully,  "  for  now  you  un- 
derstand fully  why  I  am  here,  you  help  me,  not 
only  with  the  work  of  your  two  hands,  but  with 
your  ready  sympathy.  But  about  the  promised 
call  from  Irma,  there's  little  use  in  hoping  that  she 
will  not  arrive.  She  has  some  especial  reason  for 
coming,  and  we  may  see  her  at  our  door  at  any 
time." 

"  Ef  she's  plannin'  ter  upset  ye,  I  hope  some- 
thin'll  happen  ter  detain  her  right  where  she  is," 
was  the  tart  reply,  and  Sylvia's  heart  echoed  the 
wish. 

Soon  after  Aunt  Zilla  had  left  the  room  to  pre- 
pare an  early  tea,  Sylvia  noticed  that  a  cooler 
breeze  was  blowing  the  curtains  at  the  window 
where  she  was  sitting,  and  upon  looking  out,  saw 


FROM  THE  TREETOPS         163 

that  ragged,  gray  clouds  were  scudding  across  the 
sky.  It  was  not  a  hint  of  approaching  storm; 
rather  it  showed  that  the  wind  had  shifted. 

Aunt  Zilla's  vaunted  bravery  wilted  completely 
when  a  thunder  storm  was  in  progress.  From  the 
window  Sylvia  could  see  her  walking  up  one  path 
and  down  another,  her  calico  apron  over  her  head 
for  protection,  her  small  black  eyes  peering  out 
from  its  sheltering  folds  to  scrutinize  the  sky,  in 
search  of,  yet  dreading  to  see  thunder  clouds. 

After  a  hastily  eaten  meal,  during  which  they 
talked  but  little,  Aunt  Zilla  cleared  the  table,  and 
then  produced  a  volume  in  which  were  described 
at  length  and  with  infinite  detail  the  lives  and  tor- 
tures endured  by  numerous  martyrs.  Sylvia 
never  saw  the  book,  save  at  times  when  Aunt  Zilla 
believed  a  heavy  storm  imminent.  Then  it  was 
brought  forth,  and  diligently  read  until  the  storm 
was  over. 

"  How  can  you  read  that  book,  Aunt  Zilla?  " 
she  asked. 

"  It  steadies  my  nerves,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 
"  I'm  dreadfully  afeared  o'  thunder  'n'  light- 
nin',  but  when  I'm  readin'  o'  them  poor  critters  in 
this  book  that  was  burned  at  the  stake,  an'  branded 
with  hot  irons,  I  do  declare,  the  storm  don't  seem 
like  much  ter  bear,  however  rampageous  'tis." 


1 64         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Sylvia  found  little  entertainment  in  the  volume 
that  she  had  chosen  from  the  corner  bookcase,  and 
idly  she  turned  its  pages,  reading  nothing  and  only 
glancing  at  the  pictures.  She  knew  that  she  could 
make  but  one  reply  to  Aunt  Daphne's  letter :  a  re- 
fusal to  return,  but  she  felt  unequal  to  the  efforts 
of  writing  even  the  brief  note  that  should  tell 
Mrs.  Van  Horn  that  her  appeal  had  been  useless. 

As  she  sat  listlessly  turning  its  pages,  a  great 
regret  for  Jack's  loneliness  filled  her  heart,  and 
pity  for  herself  kept  it  company.  If  Jack  were 
lonely,  he  could  at  least  find  congenial  company 
at  his  club,  and  surely,  even  if  little  interested  in 
what  the  theaters  were  offering,  he  could,  if  un- 
bearably lonely,  spend  a  few  evenings  there. 

"  But  what  is  there  here  in  this  old  house,  or 
in  the  town  itself  with  which  I  can  banish  sad 
thoughts,  or  for  even  a  few  hours,  so  occupy  my 
mind  that,  for  the  time  being,  I  can  smother  my 
longing  for  him?  " 

She  had  unconsciously  whispered  her  thoughts, 
and  Aunt  Zilla,  always  nervous,  looked  up  at  her 
with  startled  eyes. 

''  Was  that  you  whisp'rin'?  "  she  asked. 

Before  Sylvia  could  reply,  the  breeze  tore  a 
blind  from  its  fastening,  flinging  it  back  against 
the  house  with  a  crash.  The  old  swinging  sign 


FROM  THE  TREETOPS         165 

creaked,  and  the  branches  scraped  along  the  roof. 
Then  came  a  lull,  so  abrupt  as  to  be  startling. 

Suddenly  a  hoarse,  croaking  voice  broke  the 
stillness,  chanting  a  monotonous  song  —  if  such  it 
could  be  called  —  the  air  indescribable,  the  words 
so  mumbled  that  they  were  unintelligible. 

Strangely  enough,  although  the  chanter  ap- 
peared to  be  out  of  doors,  the  weird  sounds 
seemed  to  be  high  over  head. 

"Sylvia  it's  awful!  It  sounds  as  if  it,  or  he 
must  be  on  top  o'  the  roof,  and  how  could  he,  or 
it,  or  they  git  there?  " 

"  It's  only  one  voice,"  Sylvia  said,  with  an  ef- 
fort keeping  her  own  voice  steady. 

"  Only  one !  Wai  goodness  knows  that's 
'nough,  ain't  it?  "  whispered  Aunt  Zilla,  and  then 
for  a  moment  the  two  were  silent  —  listening. 

Still  the  strange,  monotonous  sounds  continued, 
as  if  there  were  no  limit  to  the  endurance  of  the 
chanter,  and  no  end  to  the  chant. 

"  Sylvia,  it's  fearful  ter  jest  stand  here  an' 
listen,"  whispered  Aunt  Zilla,  no  longer  able  to 
keep  silent. 

'What  else  can  we  do?"  came  the  softly 
whispered  response. 

;<  I  don't  know,  but  seems  ter  me  I'll  hev  ter 
do  somethin'  ter  stop  that  awful  singin',  er  go 


1 66         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

crazy !  "  Aunt  Zilla  exclaimed  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"  Then  do  something,"  Sylvia  answered,  laugh- 
ing at  the  desperate  assertion,  in  spite  of  her  gen- 
uine fear. 

"  I  don't  see  how  ye  kin  laugh,  when  some  one 
is  hangin'  round  this  house,  an'  singin'  in  that 
awful  voice  that  would  tell  anybody  that  they's 
somethin'  wrong  'bout  the  pusson,  whoever  'tis," 
came  the  retort  that  told  that  the  older  woman 
was  vexed  with  what  she  termed  the  "  frivol'ty  " 
of  the  girl. 

And  whether  they  whispered,  or  were  silent,  the 
droning,  nasal-toned  voice  continued  its  chant  upon 
one  note,  now  soft,  now  louder,  until  Aunt  Zilla 
felt  that  she  had  reached  the  limit  of  her  en- 
durance. 

"  Somethin'  has  got  ter  be  did !  "  she  said,  under 
her  breath,"  an'  I'm  a-goin'  ter  do  it!  " 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AN   ALARMING    PREDICTION 

SHE  crossed  the  room  to  the  window,   and 
peered    out    into    the    darkness.     At    first 
nothing  stood  out  clearly.     The  garden  was 
dark,  and  shadowy,  the  old  gate  indefinite,  the 
road  beyond,  unreal,  and  but  vaguely  seen.     The 
tall  trees  formed  a  solid  mass  of  darkness,  save 
near   their   tops,    when   the    spreading   of   their 
branches    showed    them,    in    lace-like    silhouette, 
against  the  sky. 

She  looked  upward,  and  noticed  the  lighter 
branches  swaying  as  if  set  in  movement  by  a 
gentle  breeze.  Ragged  clouds,  dark,  and  fog-like, 
now  thin  and  scattered,  now  heavily  massed,  were 
driven  across  the  sky.  The  heavy  cloud  masses 
obscured  the  moon  completely,  but  the  tattered 
fragments  that  trailed  in  their  wake  showed  the 
silver  disc  endeavoring  to  illumine  the  night.  A 
heavy  cloud  bank  passed  before  her,  making  the 
garden  darker  than  before;  then,  as  it  passed,  the 
moon  shone  forth,  and  all  objects  stood  revealed. 
The  shrubbery,  the  old  fence,  the  road,  the  trees, 

167 


1 68         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

—  stay !  What  was  that  high  up  in  the  tall  elm 
opposite  the  window? 

Aunt  Zilla  pressed  her  face  against  the  glass, 
and  strained  her  eyes  to  determine  what  it  was. 
Clouds  once  more  obscured  the  moon,  and  she 
waited  for  them  to  pass. 

"Sylvia!" 

The  girl  crept  to  the  window  beside  her. 

'  They's  somethin',  er  somebody  up  in  that 
elm.  Wait  till  the  moon  comes  out  an'  you'll 
see." 

The  tall  elm  stood  apart  from  the  mass  of 
trees  beyond,  and  as  the  clouds  parted,  they  saw, 
high  up  among  the  branches,  a  huddled  mass  that 
was  rocked  and  swayed  by  the  wind.  Again  dark- 
ness hid  the  object,  then  again  the  moon  burst 
forth,  and  the  elm  and  its  occupant  stood  out 
clearly  against  the  sky.  Aunt  Zilla  pointed  a  long 
finger  at  it. 

"It  is  singin',  whatever  'tis!"  she  said,  "an' 
Sylvia,  I'm  a-goin'  ter  go  ter  the  door  with  the 
broom  in  my  hand  and  shout  ter  it,  an'  tell  it  ter 
go  'way !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  open  the  door,  or  shout,"  Sylvia 
cried.  "  Just  let  it  alone.  It's  safer,  I  know,  not 
to  do  anything.  Come!  We  can  go  up-stairs." 

"  I'll  not  go  upstairs  'thout  fust  tryin'  ter  drive 


AN  ALARMING  PREDICTION     169 

the  critter  out'n  that  tree !  "  Aunt  Zilla  declared 
stoutly.  '  Why,  Sylvia,  we  couldn't  noways  man- 
age ter  sleep  with  that  thing  up  there,  a-singin'  like 
that.  I  tell  ye,  he  er  it,  whichever  'tis,  is  disturb- 
in'  the  peace,  an'  I'm  that  riled,  I  can't  rest  till  I've 
disturbed  him!  " 

She  was  now  far  more  angry  than  afraid.  The 
persistence  with  which  the  wearing  monotone  con- 
tinued had  aroused  her  almost  to  fury,  and  it  was 
with  no  gentle  hand  that  she  snatched  the  broom 
from  its  hook  in  the  back  entry,  and  opened  the 
door. 

Sylvia,  gaining  a  little  courage,  because  of 
Aunt  Zilla's  newly  developed  bravery,  peered 
from  the  window,  her  fear  mingled  with  amuse- 
ment. How  would  the  dismal  chanter  take  Aunt 
Zilla's  interruption? 

She  raised  the  window  that  she  might  hear  the 
colloquy. 

"Hi,  there!  Say!  Stop  that  noise! "  Aunt 
Zilla's  voice  was  powerful,  when  she  chose  to  test 
its  strength.  The  chanting  continued. 

"  Say !     Will  you  stop  that  racket?  " 

Still  the  droning  continued  unabated.  Aunt 
Zilla's  wrath  now  obliterated  all  thoughts  of  fear. 

;'  I'll  give  ye  jest  'nough  time  ter  git  out'n  that 
tree  'fore  I  fire  a  brick!  " 


170        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

No  word  of  reply  was  uttered,  but  slowly,  cau- 
tiously the  girl  at  the  window,  and  the  angry 
woman  at  the  door,  saw  what  appeared  to  be  a 
bundle  of  clothes  descending.  Sylvia  crept  to  the 
door. 

"Oh,  Aunt  Zilla!"  she  whispered,  "I  wish 
you  had  let  him  alone,  for  I  do  believe  it  is  that 
dreadful  man  that  thought  himself  a  prophet.  I 
mean  the  crazy  manl  " 

"  Wai,  ef  'tis,  I'm  jest  crazy  ter  see  him,"  was 
the  cool  response. 

Sylvia  crept  back,  and  with  a  low  whistle,  called 
Laddie  to  her  side.  Sound  asleep  on  the  rug  near 
her  chamber  door,  he  heard  and  went  bounding 
down  the  stairs  to  do  her  bidding. 

"  Hush-sh-sh !  "  she  whispered,  as  she  closed 
firm  fingers  on  his  collar,  and  the  dog,  seeming  to 
catch  her  meaning,  sidled  closer,  awaiting  orders. 
Again  she  looked  out. 

Whoever  the  being  was,  he  had  clambered  down 
to  within  three  feet  of  the  ground,  and  there  he 
paused  as  if  trying  to  decide  whether  to  drop  the 
small  distance  to  terra  firma,  or  to  return  to  the 
crotch  where  he  had  been  perching.  Suddenly  he 
landed  on  the  ground,  and  approaching  the  house, 
resumed  the  chant  that  his  descent  had  interrupted. 


AN  ALARMING  PREDICTION     171 

Sylvia  could  now  hear  the  words,  as  well  as  the 
dismal  tones. 

'  Woe  unter  sinners!  Fire  shall  swaller  'em! 
Lions  shall  eat  'em !  Tears  an'  lam'tation  shall 
not  save  'em.  I  am  a  prophet,  an'  I  can  foretell. 
Dee struction,  and  des'lation  shall  be  their  portion, 
'less  they  repent,  an'  listen  ter  me." 

Pushing  aside  the  gate,  he  walked  half  way  up 
the  path,  and  paused  there,  as  once  before,  only 
this  time  he  wore  no  head-covering  that  he  could 
respectfully  remove. 

'  Wai,  ye're  here  at  last,  after  singin'  folks  ter 
death,  and  what  I  called  ye  down  out'n  that  tree 
for  is  this :  Folks  wants  peace,  durin'  day  an' 
evenin',  an'  then  they  want  ter  sleep,  an'  nobody 
could  read,  think,  or  sleep  with  that  awful  noise 
ye  was  makin'.  Now  jest  git!  Keep  away  from 
here!  D'ye  understand?  I  won't  hev  ye  'round 
here  a-singin'  through  yer  nose,  an'  givin'  us  the 
horrors  with  yer  tunes  that  hain't  got  no  tune  to 
'em,  an'  yer  words  that  don't  mean  nothin'  'tall." 
"  Ma'm,  I  hung  my  mantle  on  the  bushes,  an' 
dumb  a  tree  ter  sing  ye  a  warnin',"  he  replied,  in 
an  aggrieved  tone. 

'  Ye  may  consider  ye  warned  us  'nough,  an' 
git  out,  an'  stay  'way  from  here,  fer  I  tell  ye  now, 


172         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

we've  got  a  dog  here,  an'  I  got  a  broom,  an' — " 
The  sentence  remained  unfinished,  for  at  the  men- 
tion of  the  dog,  the  prophet  forgot  his  anxiety  for 
their  welfare,  and  thinking  only  of  his  own,  fled 
through  the  gateway,  in  haste  that  banished 
dignity. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AN    UNWELCOME    CALLER 

THE  locust-trees  cast  a  cool  shadow  over  the 
low    garden-seat,    and    Sylvia,    from    her 
chamber  window,  looked  down  and  thought 
the  spot  inviting.     A  small  red  book  lay  upon  the 
table,  a  pencil  beside  it. 

As  she  turned  from  the  window,  she  noticed 
the  little  book,  and  picking  it  up,  turned  its  pages 
forward  and  back,  as  if  the  act  were  idle,  and  her 
thoughts  elsewhere.  She  had  purchased  it,  in- 
tending to  keep  a  record  of  expenditures,  her 
thought  being  that  her  income  was  so  small  that 
much  care  would  be  needed,  if  "  both  ends  "  were 
to  "  meet."  On  the  first  page  she  had  carefully 
penned  the  date  of  their  arrival,  and  from  time  to 
time  items  of  expense  and  notes  of  happenings 
had  kept  each  other  company,  until  the  red  book 
had  become  a  droll  little  diary  and  account  book 
combined.  For  some  days  she  had  made  no  en- 
tries, but  several  pages  were  closely  filled  with 
hastily  written  notes. 

173 


174        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Sylvia  took  the  book  down  to  the  garden,  and 
seated  on  the  old  bench  in  the  shade  of  the  locust 
trees,  with  a  riot  of  blossoming  shrubs,  and  tall 
phlox  and  balm,  all  about  her,  she  read  again  the 
entries  in  the  little  book.  The  garden  seat 
seemed  placed  in  a  veritable  bower,  so  tall  and 
full  of  bloom  were  the  shadowing  locust  trees,  so 
prodigal  of  their  sweetness  were  the  old-fashioned 
garden  flowers  and  blossoming  shrubs. 

The  road  to  the  village  lay  at  the  right  of  the 
house,  if  one  stood  facing  it,  and  the  forest  road 
at  the  left.  The  little  nook  in  which  the  girl  now 
sat  was  at  the  side  of  the  garden  nearest  the  for- 
est road,  and  that  fact  added  yet  another  charm 
to  the  lovely  spot,  for  Luke  Elmore  invariably  tra- 
versed the  village  road,  and  from  any  point  on 
that  road  as  he  passed,  it  would  be  impossible 
for  him  to  see  her. 

Hoof-beats  approaching  nearer,  nearer,  made 
Sylvia  catch  her  breath. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  he'll  go  by !  "  she  whispered,  and 
then  a  comforting  thought  flitted  through  her 
mind:  "  He  has  stopped  many  times  to  ask  for 
me,  when,  although  I've  been  sitting  here  in  this 
very  spot,  he  has  not  seen  me." 

The  horse  was  walking  slowly  now,  and  through 
small  openings  in  the  foliage,  she  could  see  both 


AN  UNWELCOME  CALLER     175 

horse  and  rider,  although  herself  unseen.  She 
saw  that  the  "  Squire,"  as  he  was  usually  called, 
was  closely  scrutinizing  the  garden  in  hope  of  see- 
ing her.  She  wished  that  he  would  pass  but  he 
did  not.  Springing  to  the  ground,  he  slipped  the 
bridle  over  a  peg  that  stood  out  on  the  stringer 
of  the  fence.  No  one  could  guess  for  what  use 
it  was  originally  intended,  but  just  now  it  served 
very  well  for  a  hitching-post. 

With  confident  bearing  he  walked  along  the 
little  path  from  the  gateway,  mounted  the  steps, 
and  was  about  to  lift  the  knocker,  when  Aunt 
Zilla  opened  the  door. 

She  had  seen  him  dismount  and  hastened  to 
greet  him.  She  was  possessed  of  the  idea  that  in 
their  lonely  position,  any  one  who  could  be  claimed 
as  a  friend  should  be  encouraged,  and  try  as  she 
would,  Sylvia  could  not  dissuade  her  from  show- 
ing Luke  Elmore  especial  favor.  Sylvia  heard 
him  inquire  if  he  might  see  her. 

;'  I  think  she's  gone  out,"  Aunt  Zilla  replied, 
then  as  if  to  soften  his  evident  disappointment 
she  added:  "I  heard  her  comin'  down  stairs, 
but  her  hat  is  here  in  the  hall,  so  she's  not  far 
off.  Why  don't  ye  come  in  an'  wait?  " 

'  Thanks,  I'll  not  come  in  this  time.  Perhaps 
I  shall  be  lucky  enough  to  overtake  her.  Do  you 


176         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

happen  to  know  if  an  errand  took  her  to  the  vil- 
lage, or  if  she  is  only  out  for  a  stroll?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  'bout  any  errands,"  Aunt  Zilla 
replied.  "  Ef  she  went  ter  the  post-office  she 
went  that  way,  but  when  she's  just  walkin'  fer  the 
sake  er  walkin',  she's  apt  ter  go  that  way  toward 
the  woods,  the  land  knows  why.  I  wouldn't." 

"  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  she  wishes  to  avoid 
me,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  yet  not  so  low  but 
that  the  words  came  clearly  to  Sylvia  in  her  hiding 
place. 

Her  cheeks  burnt  at  Aunt  Zilla's  reply. 

"  Oh,  don't  ye  be  uncomfortable  thinkin'  that," 
she  said,  adding,  "  girls  will  have  their  little 
ways." 

;'  Why  does  she  persistently  smooth  his  ruffled 
feathers?  "  Sylvia  said  to  herself,  angrily.  "  She 
knows  I  detest  him,  she  knows  I  want  no  one  but 
Jack  to  care  for  me,  and  it  makes  his  absence 
harder  to  bear,  when  one  whom  I  dislike  is  forever 
here !  " 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Aunt  Zilla  had  en- 
deavored to  aid  the  Squire,  and  to  imply  that  she 
was  extremely  friendly  toward  him. 

;<  Why  does  she  do  so?"  Sylvia  said  softly. 
"  In  all  other  matters  she  sympathizes  with  me." 


AN  UNWELCOME  CALLER     177 

She  saw  him  turn  at  the  gate  to  lift  his  hat,  and 
as  a  last  straw,  she  heard  Aunt  Zilla  say: 

"  Come   again." 

She  had  meant,  as  soon  as  the  horse  and  rider 
were  out  of  sight,  to  leave  the  garden,  and  go  in- 
doors, where  in  the  cool  living-room  she  would 
try  to  forget  her  own  anxieties  while  reading  of 
the  trials  endured  by  some  heroine  of  fiction. 
The  brief  conversation  that  she  had  overheard 
had  changed  the  plans.  She  was  too  angry  now 
to  at  once  meet  Aunt  Zilla.  She  would  talk  with 
her  regarding  her  persistent  attitude  of  extreme 
friendliness  toward  Elmore,  but  she  could  not 
trust  herself  to  do  that  just  now.  A  quiet  talk 
was  what  was  necessary.  Aunt  Zilla  possessed 
a  hot  temper,  and  Sylvia  knew  that  she  herself 
could  not  speak  in  the  way  that  she  believed  would 
be  most  convincing  until  she  had  had  a  little  time 
in  which  the  heat  of  her  own  anger  could  abate. 

Mrs.  Van  Horn's  letter  still  lay  on  the  table  in 
her  chamber,  unanswered.  For  that,  too,  she  had 
been  waiting  for  calmer  moments,  in  which  to 
reply. 

Irma  Delwin  had  said  that  her  note  needed 
no  reply,  as  she  should  soon  arrive.  Why  had 
she  thought  of  coming  so  far  to  see  a  girl  with 


178         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

whom  she  had  never  been  intimate  ?  Overtopping 
all  the  petty  annoyances  was  the  fact  of  Jack's 
absence,  and  his  silence.  Yet  she  constantly  asked 
herself  why  she  so  looked  for  a  letter,  a  word 
from  him?  Had  she  not  told  him  that  he  must 
not  write  to  her  unless  he  could  do  so  without 
pleading  with  her  to  abandon  the  old  house  and 
whatever  bit  of  property  went  with  it,  and  give 
herself  at  once  to  him?  Had  she  not  also  said 
that  he  must  remain  away  from  her  unless  he  could 
then,  also,  refrain  from  making  his  plea  even  more 
urgent  ? 

How  glad  she  had  been  when  he  had  arrived 
in  the  midst  of  the  tempest,  had  taken  her  in  his 
strong  arms  and  hushed  her  fears,  had  whispered 
the  loving  words  that  he  could  so  tenderly  say; 
and  then,  oh,  how  harsh  he  had  been  when  he 
had  found  her  firm,  and  unyielding  in  her  de- 
termination to  withstand  all  his  pleading?  Not 
a  day  passed,  however,  that  she  did  not  look 
with  quickening  heart-beat  for  a  letter  from  Jack, 
and  when  two  and  three  letters  from  others  were 
placed  in  her  hands,  the  disappointment  was  so 
deep,  so  harsh,  that  she  wished  that  she  had  sent 
Aunt  Zilla  for  the  mail. 

She  thought  she  could  have  borne  the  depres- 
sion easier  in  her  own  room  than  out  in  view  of 


AN  UNWELCOME  CALLER     179 

the  group  of  idlers  that  always  lounged  around 
the  store  and  watched,  with  lynx-like  eyes,  the  re- 
cipients as  they  took  the  letters  given  them. 
Often  she  had  heard  their  comments,  regarding 
their  neighbors. 

"  That  letter  in  the  big  onwalope  didn't  please 
Mrs.  Topson  a  bit.  Know  what  'twas,  don't  ye? 
I  do.  I  seen  it  fore  she  did.  It's  a  bill,  an'  I 
could  tell  ef  I  wanted  ter  who  it  was  from,  fer  I 
seen  the  feller  a-makin'  it  out." 

"  Did  ye  see  that  young  feller  grin  when  he  got 
the  post-card?  'Twas  from  his  best  gal,  I  bet 
ye." 

Sylvia  knew  that  the  idlers  would  as  quickly 
comment  upon  her  reception  of  the  letters  that 
came  to  her,  equally  free  to  say  that  she  was  dis- 
appointed, or  that  she  looked  pleased,  as  the  case 
might  be. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A    LONG   ROAD 

IT  was  still  early  in  the  forenoon,  and  the  cool 
breeze  sweeping  across  the  garden,  set  the 
tall  phlox  dipping  and  swaying. 
Something  in  its  rythmic  motion,  together  with 
the  soft  wind  fanning  her  cheek,  calmed  Sylvia, 
and  she  was  glad  that  she  had  not  rushed  into  the 
house,  after  Elmore's  departure  to  give  the  sharp 
reproof  that  her  anger  had  prompted.  After  all 
it  was  pleasanter  in  the  quaint  old  garden,  and 
there  would  be  time  enough  to  talk  with  Aunt 
Zilla  later.  Possibly  after  tea  would  be  a  good 
time,  when  twilight  came.  She  would,  by  that 
time,  have  thought  how  best  to  open  the  subject. 
So  much  depended  upon  how  one  approached  Aunt 
Zilla,  that  she  might  not  be  testy  and  refuse  to 
listen. 

Over  the  balm,  the  bronze-throated  humming 
birds  hovered,  thrusting  their  slender  bills  into  the 
scarlet  horn-like  blossoms  in  search  of  sweets. 
Pale  yellow  butterflies  flitting  in  and  out,  now  in 

180 


A  LONG  ROAD  181 

shadow,  now  in  sunshine,  seemed  like  winged  sun- 
beams at  play  in  the  old  garden.  Sylvia  watched 
them,  dancing,  flitting,  always  in  pairs,  happy  little 
care-free  lovers. 

"  Jack  and  I  were  as  happy  as  they,  and  almost 
as  care-free  a  short  time  ago,"  she  murmured. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  gay  life  at  Aunt 
Daphne's  when  Jack  Stanwood  had,  by  his  pres- 
ence, doubled  her  delight  in  every  social  event. 

And  when  at  last  the  long  period  of  waiting  was 
ended,  and  the  legacy  secure  in  her  own  hands, 
then,  with  what  joy  would  she  tell  Aunt  Daphne 
that  she,  Sylvia  Durant,  was  no  longer  dependent 
upon  a  tiny  income ;  that  she  could  marry  the  man 
of  her  choice  with  the  proud  knowledge  that  she 
would  not  be  a  "  burden."  She  would  have,  also, 
the  greater  joy  of  telling  Mrs.  Van  Horn  that 
Jack  had  supposed  that  the  old  house  formed  the 
bulk  of  the  inheritance,  and  that  he  had  begged 
her  to  relinquish  it  and  agree  to  marry  him  with- 
out delay.  Ah,  it  would  be  sweet  then  to  refute 
Aunt  Daphne's  malicious  statement  that  Jack 
Stanwood  had  been  attracted  to  her  niece,  largely 
because  he  believed  that  this  niece  would  be  sole 
heir  to  the  Van  Horn  millions. 

And  Jack  was  true,  she  told  herself,  even  al- 
though silent,  because  he  could  not  be  other  than 


182        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

true.  What  caused  the  faint  tremor,  the  vague 
feeling  of  anxiety,  whenever  she  told  herself  that 
Jack  would  love  her  the  same  through  the  en- 
forced absence,  that  he  would  be  true,  that  at  the 
end  of  the  "  year  and  a  day,"  they  would,  with- 
out delay,  be  reunited? 

A  long  road,  scorching  in  the  hot  August  sun- 
shine, a  rambling  stone  wall  over  which  the  dust- 
laden  vines  grew  like  a  mantle  that  covered  a  vast 
amount  of  ugliness,  a  field  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall,  and  in  that  field  but  a  short  distance 
from  the  road,  a  man  hard  at  work  with  pick  and 
shovel.  He  had  dug  at  some  depth,  for  only  his 
head  and  shoulders  appeared  above  the  surface. 
It  was  hardly  a  spot  where  one  would  think  of 
locating  a  well.  No  farm-house,  or  other  build- 
ing was  in  sight. 

The  heat  was  intense,  yet  the  man  appeared  un- 
aware of  it,  for  surely  if  the  sun  rays  were  an- 
noying he  would  adorn  himself  with  the  hat  that 
lay  within  easy  reach.  Not  that  the  hat  would 
be  considered  an  adornment  for  the  average  male 
head,  but  the  head  that  appeared  and  disappeared 
alternately  was  surely  not  an  average  head.  In- 
deed it  was  outrageously  unusual  in  appearance. 


A  LONG  ROAD  183 

The  hair  was  matted,  and  of  indescribable  color, 
having  patches  of  red  above  the  receding  fore- 
head, locks  of  sandy  coloring  overhanging  the 
ears,  while  at  the  back,  the  two  colors  were  im- 
partially mingled. 

Often  he  paused,  not  as  if  weary,  or  heated, 
but,  rather  as  if  he  feared  the  approach  of  some 
one,  for  he  shaded  his  dull  eyes  with  a  huge, 
grimy  hand,  and  peered  warily  about  him. 
Then,  as  if  satisfied  that  no  one  was  in  sight,  he 
would  resume  work,  with  a  vigorous  swing  of  the 
pick  that  bespoke  abundant  strength.  For  a  time 
he  worked  so  steadily  that  one  might  have  thought 
that  he  had  forgotten,  or  relinquished  his  watch- 
fulness; then,  as  abruptly  as  if  impelled  by  sud- 
den fear  of  capture,  he  dropped  the  pick,  and 
again,  with  anxious  scrutiny,  peered  from  un- 
der his  hand,  inspecting  the  corners  and  bound- 
aries of  the  field.  His  dull  eyes  never  lighted, 
so  that  it  was  the  pose  of  his  body,  its  nervous 
straining  muscles  and  its  quick,  wiry  turning  that 
no  part  of  the  field  lay  unobserved,  that  plainly 
depicted  fear. 

He  did  not  at  once  resume  work,  but,  instead, 
gazed  vacantly  across  the  field,  glancing  upward 
at  a  huge  crow  whose  flapping  wings  attracted 


184        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

his  attention.  Suddenly  he  clasped  his  rough 
hands,  and  with  bowed  head,  stood  muttering. 
Was  it  prayer,  or  imprecation? 

At  the  far  end  of  the  road  a  clump  of  willows 
leaned  eagerly  out  as  if  to  chat  or  gossip  with 
the  row  of  alders  on  the  opposite  side. 

Possibly  they  were  commenting  upon  the  sud- 
den appearance  around  the  bend,  of  a  pretty  fig- 
ure that  tripped  along  at  a  rapid  pace,  pausing 
at  times  to  know  if  dust  were  accumulating  on 
her  smart  shoes. 

She  was  a  bright  spot  on  a  dusty,  sun-scorched 
landscape.  Her  muslin  gown  of  pale  pink  was 
faultlessly  made,  the  open  neck  fastened  with  a 
large  damask  rose  contrasted  wonderfully  well 
with  the  soft  cream  of  her  skin. 

She  knew  that.  She  knew  also  that  the  leghorn 
hat  with  its  wealth  of  pink  and  crimson  roses  was 
just  the  sort  of  hat  to  wear  with  the  gown,  and 
that  its  shape  and  coloring  were  extremely  be- 
coming. 

She  had  set  out  upon  the  little  journey  with  the 
determination  to  reach  Blossomville  to  see  the  old 
house,  but,  of  far  greater  importance,  to  see  Sylvia 
Durant  and  to  tell  her  a  few  facts  that  she  might 
not  know.  There  were  those  who  called  Irma 
Delwin  a  pretty  girl,  and  doubtless  the  term  fitted, 


A  LONG  ROAD  185 

but  it  never  pleased  Irma  to  hear  herself  thus 
described.  Pretty  was  not  enough. 

"  Who  ever  heard  any  one  speak  of  Sylvia  Du- 
rant  as  '  pretty  '  ?  "  she  had  often  said  to  herself, 
and  at  another  time:  "She  is  always  called 
'  beautiful,'  or  '  lovely,'  or  '  striking  ' !  Of  course 
she  is,  but  why  are  the  reporters  so  obtuse?" 
The  question  puzzled  Irma,  but  there  could  be 
but  one  reply  to  any  unprejudiced  observer  who 
saw  the  two  girls. 

Sylvia's  features  were  regular,  her  figure  fine, 
and  her  carriage  erect  and  graceful.  Her  color- 
ing was  unusual,  and  striking,  and  added  to  all 
these  attributes  was  a  lovable  disposition  that 
made  itself  felt  in  her  sweet  voice,  her  expression, 
and  manner. 

Of  Irma  far  less  could  be  said.  Stylish  she 
surely  was  to  the  point  of  looking  like  a  fashion- 
plate,  but  that  fact  and  her  really  fine  coloring 
were  all  that  could  be  said.  Her  doll-like  face 
lacked  expression.  The  face  can  not  express  what 
the  mind  and  character  lack.  Her  small  eyes 
were  nearly  black,  her  hair  flaxen,  her  little  mouth 
inclined  to  pout,  and  her  nose,  her  poorest  fea- 
ture, was  small  and  of  no  especial  type.  With 
such  features  the  face  might  have  appeared  child- 
like, only  for  the  eyes  that  were  far  from  inno- 


1 86        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

cent.  Those  eyes  could  at  times  show  cunning, 
an  ability  for  scheming,  or  jealousy  according  to 
what  chanced  to  offend  their  owner. 

Jim  Jimson  had  played  a  joke  upon  her  an 
hour  before,  and  she  now  fully  realized  it. 

Bringing  his  horses  to  an  abrupt  stop  when 
about  half-way  between  the  station  and  the  Durant 
house  whither  she  had  told  him  to  take  her,  he 
had  leaned  over  and  shouted  to  the  blonde  head 
that  at  that  moment  was  thrust  out  of  the  window 
below  him. 

"  Say,  Miss !  Ye'll  hev  ter  git  out  here.  This 
is  as  near  as  the  stage  goes  ter  the  ol'  Durant 
place." 

"Are  you  speaking  to  me?"  Irma  had  asked 
pertly.  "  If  you  are,  please  keep  on  driving. 
You  said  you'd  take  me  there,  and  I  shall  not  get 
out  until  we  reach  the  house !  " 

1  'Squarter  past  'leven.  Ye'll  be  in  this  coach 
some  time,  fer  we  don't  pass  the  Durant  place  but 
twice  a  day;  six  ter-night,  an'  jist  after  daylight 
ter-morrer  mornin' !  " 

'You  can't  mean  that!"  she  had  gasped,  to 
which  Jimson  had  cooly  replied : 

"  Oh,  I've  said  wuss  things  'n  that,  an'  meant 
'em,  too,  'n'  what  I  said  was  true.  This  'ere  coach 
don't  go  no  nigher  'n  this  ter  the  Durant  place, 


A  LONG  ROAD  187 

so  'f  ye  really  want  ter  git  there,  ye'll  hev  ter 
hoof  it,  f'm  here  — ." 

Irma,  completely  disgusted,  pushed  wide  the 
door,  and  sprang  to  the  ground,  walking  swiftly 
away  in  the  direction  that  a  fellow  passenger  had 
designated.  Her  cheeks  were  burning,  and  her 
eyes  bead-like  in  their  anger. 

After  a  short  distance,  however,  the  thought 
of  what  had  moved  her  to  take  the  trip,  drove 
away  the  frown,  and,  for  a  time,  she  had  walked 
as  if  on  air.  Really,  the  jaunt  was  worth  while. 
The  road  proved  to  be  longer  than  it  looked, 
however,  and  she  was  just  beginning  to  wish  that 
there  were  a  human  being  within  hailing  distance, 
when  the  sound  of  a  pick  striking  the  earth  came 
to  her  ears.  She  paused  to  listen. 

"  Really,  there  is  a  living  creature  in  this  hor- 
rid place,"  she  said,  and  hastened  forward  to  in- 
quire if  she  were  on  the  right  road. 

Irma  felt  that  the  driver  of  the  stage-coach 
had  allowed  her  to  depart  with  never  a  thought 
as  to  whether  she  ever  reached  her  destination 
or  not.  With  his  thumb  he  had  pointed  over  his 
shoulder  toward  the  road  that  she  was  now  on, 
but  she  had  walked  until  weary,  and  still  no  house 
was  in  sight. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IRMA   ARRIVES 

1RMA  sped  along  forgetting  that  she  was  tired, 
that  her  new  shoes  were  instruments  of  tor- 
ture, that  the  dusty  road  seemed  endless. 

Here  at  last  was  some  one  who  could  tell  her 
if  she  were  on  the  right  road,  and  if  not,  set  her 
straight.  He  was  still  standing  with  his  head 
bent  over  his  clasped  hands,  and  his  muttering 
reached  Irma's  quick  ears. 

The  man,  unaware  of  her  approach,  moved 
about  in  the  hole  as  if  shifting  from  one  foot  to 
the  other,  but  his  eyes  remained  closed,  and  his 
muttering  continued. 

Irma  stood  watching  him.  She  was  waiting 
until  he  should  cease  praying. 

One  minute,  five,  ten, —  and  the  sun  scorching. 

"  Is  he  going  to  pray  all  day?  "  she  whispered; 
then,  wholly  out  of  patience,  she  spoke  sharply: 

"  Will  you  tell  me  if  I  am  on  the  right  road 
to  reach  the  old  Durant  house?  " 

188 


IRMA  ARRIVES  189 

Without  apparent  surprise  at  being  thus  inter- 
rupted, he  turned  and  stared  vacantly  at  her. 

"  He's  deaf  as  a  post,"  she  whispered,  and 
raising  her  voice  she  repeated  the  question. 

He  did  not  move,  and  his  dull  eyes  never 
changed.  Irma  made  a  supreme  effort  and  fairly 
shrieked: 

'  The  Durant  house,  I  say !  I  want  to  find 
it?" 

"  Did  ye  lose  it?  An'  ef  ye  find  it,  an'  lose  yer 
soul  what  then?  "  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

Suddenly  with  a  shout  he  flung  his  arms  above 
his  head. 

"The  crack  o'  doom  is  'bout  ter  sound! 
Houses  shall  fall,  men  shall  cling  ter  the  ones,  — " 

He  was  climbing  out  of  the  hole,  and  Irma,  in 
terror,  fled  along  the  road,  running  like  the  wind, 
never  once  daring  to  look  back. 

She  ran  until,  stumbling  over  a  stick  that  lay 
across  her  path,  she  nearly  fell,  but  saved  herself 
by  catching  at  the  branches  of  an  alder  beside  the 
road.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  looked  back 
over  the  road  that  she  had  traversed,  and  was 
relieved  to  see  that  no  shambling  figure  followed. 

The  Wiley  farm  lay  at  the  left  of  the  road,  a 
little  ahead  of  where  she  was  now  standing.  As 
she  passed  it  she  saw  that  the  house  stood  far 


190        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

back  from  the  road,  and  that  no  one  was  in  sight 
upon  the  place. 

She  would  not  stop  to  inquire.  After  all,  that 
other  passenger  in  the  coach  had  said: 

"  If  ye  keep  on  that  road  ye  can't  miss  it." 

Irma  decided  to  keep  on. 

Fortunately  all  journeys  have  an  ending  of 
some  sort.  Irma's  ended  just  as  she  wished,  for 
at  the  junction  of  two  roads,  the  one  that  she  had 
traveled,  and  another  was  a  triangular  shaped 
garden,  and  beyond  the  garden  the  strange,  old 
house. 

4  That  must  be  it,"  she  said  softly,  and  even 
as  she  spoke  Sylvia  came  along  the  garden  walk. 

"Sylvia!  Oh,  Sylvia!  I  wrote  you  that  I 
was  coming,  and  here  I  am." 

"  And  here  you  are,"  Sylvia  echoed,  taking 
Irma's  hand,  and  leading  her  through  the  gate- 
way, and  into  the  garden. 

She  had  let  her  hand  give  the  welcome  that  her 
lips  could  not  frame. 

She  could  not  have  told  why  she  took  her  caller 
to  the  little  garden,  instead  of  inviting  her  into 
the  house.  Perhaps  it  was  the  thought  that  came 
to  her  with  Irma's  letter. 

As  she  read  it  she  thought :  u  Why  is  this  girl, 
whom  I  so  slightly  know,  coming  so  far  to  see 


IRMA  ARRIVES  191 

me?"  And  now  that  they  were  together,  she 
thought:  "Why  has  she  come?" 

The  striking  difference  between  the  two  girls 
was  never  more  evident  than  as  they  sat  on  the 
garden  seat  talking  of  the  friends  that  Sylvia  had 
left  behind.  Irma  had  dressed  herself  with  great 
care,  and  when  before  her  mirror  she  had  sur- 
veyed its  reflection,  she  felt  that  her  effort  had 
produced  a  charming  result.  Now,  as  she  sat  fac- 
ing Sylvia,  she  saw  the  beauty,  the  grace,  the 
strength  of  character  that  shone  forth  as  she 
talked,  and  above  all  the  magnetism  of  the  girl 
whom  she  had  always  envied.  Before  this  she 
had  wondered  why  Sylvia  charmed  all  who  met 
her;  now  she  knew,  and  the  knowledge  was  gall- 
ing. Try  as  she  would,  she  could  never  be  this 
girl's  equal,  no  not  in  any  one  respect. 

Sylvia  in  her  ivory-toned  muslin  gown,  simply 
made,  wore  as  its  only  garniture  a  satin  girdle  of 
the  same  hue.  Earlier,  when  she  had  been  alone 
in  the  garden,  the  breeze  had  swayed  the  white 
rose  bush,  and  she  had  plucked  a  bud  and  fast- 
ened it  among  the  waving  masses  of  her  hair. 
Irma  realized  the  simplicity  of  the  costume,  and 
knew  that  she  herself  could  not  look  at  all  well 
in  anything  so  plainly  made,  or  so  devoid  of 
color. 


192        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

She  was  keenly  disappointed  in  another  respect. 
It  had  been  generally  accepted  as  a  fact  that  Mrs. 
Van  Horn  had  literally  "  turned  Sylvia  from  her 
door,"  and  also  that,  as  Jack  Stanwood  did  not 
disappear  at  the  same  time  that  Sylvia  had  left 
the  city,  it  must  be  that,  as  Mrs.  Van  Horn  said, 
"  he  was  mainly  interested  in  the  Van  Horn  mil- 
lions." Yet  Sylvia  did  not  look  depressed. 
These  things  were  flitting  through  Irma's  small 
head  while  Sylvia  was  speaking,  so  it  was  not 
strange  that  her  replies  were  somewhat  irrele- 
vant. She  blushed  when  she  saw,  by  the  odd  ex- 
pression on  Sylvia's  face,  that  her  answer  had  not 
fitted  the  question  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  stupid,"  she  said,  "  but  the  long 
walk  tired  me,  and  besides  I  can't  help  thinking  of 
that  terrible  man  who  was  digging  out  in  that 
field,  and  who  shouted  about  the  '  crack  o' 
doom.' '  Then  she  changed  the  subject.  She 
had  already  told  Sylvia  all  about  the  driver  leav- 
ing her  so  far  from  her'  destination,  and  the 
"  crazy  prophet,"  as  she  called  him. 

"  We  girls  were  all  sorry  that  you  had  to  leave 
the  city  and  come  to  this  out  of  the  way  place, 
and  every  one  says  that  it  was  simply  outrageous 
of  Mrs.  Van  Horn.  She  must  have  known,  when 


IRMA  ARRIVES  193 

she  sent  you  here,  that  you'd  be  desperately 
lonely." 

"  Aunt  Daphne  did  not  send  me  here,"  Sylvia 
said  quietly. 

She  wished  that  Irma  had  not  come. 

"  Oh,  really?  Why  every  one  is  blaming  her 
because  you  are  here,"  Irma  said  with  a  look  of 
surprise. 

;<  I  came  of  my  own  volition,"  Sylvia  replied. 

'  Is  that  the  house?"  was  the  next  question, 
asked  in  a  manner  that  spoke  volumes,  and  a  rais- 
ing of  the  eyebrows  that  implied  surprise  that  any 
one  could  voluntarily  live  there. 

'  Yes,  that  is  the  house  that  my  Aunt  Sylvia 
called  '  The  Three  Birches.'  Years  ago  the  place 
was  used  as  a  tavern  and  the  swinging  sign  still 
hangs  over  the  side  door." 

'It's  very  —  er  —  picturesque,  no  doubt,  but 
really,  Sylvia,  aren't  you  afraid  here?  I  know 
I'd  never  dare  to  sleep  in  that  old  house.  It 
looks  as  if  it  actually  might  be  haunted.  Is  it? 
Did  you  ever  hear  any  one  say?  " 

Sylvia  was  spared  answering  the  annoying  ques- 
tions, for  just  at  that  moment,  a  shrill  voice  called 
her  name. 

"  Sylvia  I     Sylvia  !  " 


194        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Aunt  Zilla,  tall  and  gaunt,  appeared  on  the 
porch,  looking  anxiously  in  every  direction,  but 
Laddie,  who  had  rushed  out  beside  her,  bounded 
down  the  path  to  where  the  two  girls  sat. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    LITTLE    RED   BOOK 

EXCUSING  herself  to  Irma,  Sylvia  hurried 
along  the  path  to  the  porch,  Laddie  at  her 
heels. 

Irma  looked  curiously  after  her  as  she  pushed 
aside  the  flowering  untrimmed  shrubs,  and  made 
her  way  to  the  porch.  It  was  fortunate  that  she 
was  too  far  away  to  hear  Aunt  Zilla's  stage  whis- 
perings. After  anxiously  inquiring  as  to  the  name 
of  the  caller,  where  she  came  from,  and  why  she 
had  come,  she  asked  the  question  that  was  harrow- 
ing her.  "  Will  she  stay  all  day?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

'  Will  she  ask  to  stay  over  night?  " 

"  She  hasn't  yet,  Aunt  Zilla,  but  I  can't  tell 
what  she  might  do." 

"Good  land!  An'  a  spare-room  that  ain't 
much  ter  brag  of,  an'  the  furniture  in  it  reelly 
not  worth  mentionin'.  I  didn't  mind  when  Jack 
was  here.  Men  don't  pick  things  ter  pieces  like 
women  do." 

"  She  may  not  be  intending  to  remain  here  for 
IPS 


196         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

more  than  the  day;  indeed,  I'm  not  even  sure  that 
she  will  be  here  for  the  entire  day." 

"  Wai,  I  can't,  on  the  strength  o'  that,  let 
things  go." 

And  while  the  two  stood  talking,  Irma's  restless 
eyes  took  in  the  weed-grown  paths,  the  wild  pro- 
fusion of  flowers,  the  weather-beaten  house,  the 
old  rustic  seat,  and  then,  —  what  was  that  bit  of 
scarlet  lying  in  the  grass?  She  bent  lower.  It 
was  a  tiny  book,  and  in  a  second  it  was  in  her 
hand. 

"A  diary!  "  she  whispered,  then  with  curling 
lip,  "  How  very  interesting." 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation,  she  opened  the 
little  book  and  began  to  read  the  hastily  penciled 
items.  Down  the  column  of  small  sums  expended 
her  slender  finger  went,  her  expression  growing 
more  and  more  contemptuous,  until  she  reached  a 
line  that  held  no  figures,  needed  no  figures  to  tell 
its  meaning. 

"  Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  I  want  you !  " 

There  were  little  blistered  places  just  below  the 
written  line  that  told  of  tears.  A  strange  light 
came  into  the  beadlike  eyes,  not  a  pleasant  light 
to  see.  It  was  neither  the  bright  light  of  friendly 
understanding,  nor  was  it  the  soft  light  of  tender 
sympathy.  Rather  it  bespoke  a  sudden  feeling 


THE  LITTLE  RED  BOOK       197 

of  triumph,  as  of  one  who  gloated  over  having 
at  last  found  the  weak  spot  in  the  armor  of  an- 
other. "She  writes:  'Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  I  want 
you!  '  Then  he  doesn't  come  here  to  see  her!  " 
With  a  sense  of  gratification  that  she  had  obtained 
exactly  what  she  came  for,  she  continued  reading. 
Some  other  morsel  might  be  between  these  covers 
that  would  prove  equally  valuable.  Down  col- 
umn after  column  of  figures  on  the  little  ruled 
pages  went  the  small,  eager  finger.  Small  items 
of  household  expenditures  were  amusing,  not  in- 
teresting. 

"  Ah,  here's  something!  "  she  whispered. 

"'If  only  Jack  would  write!'  Then  he 
neither  comes  nor  writes!  "  whispered  Irma,  in 
evident  delight. 

She  must  hurry.  At  any  moment  Sylvia  might 
return.  More  goods  purchased,  and  the  prices 
paid  noted;  and  then,  as  if  the  accountant's 
thoughts  had  again  played  truant,  appeared  an- 
other bit  that  made  the  reader  less  complacent. 
"How  could  I  oversleep?  My  failure  to  bid 
him  '  good-by  '  angered  Jack.  Dear  fellow !  I 
would  not  have  missed  a  last  word  with  him  for 
the  world." 

Irma  was  now  becoming  angry.  What  did  it 
mean?  In  one  place  Sylvia  deplored  his  absence, 


198         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

and  voiced  her  loneliness  in  the  written  cry : 
"  Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  I  want  you!  "  And  again  she 
wrote:  "If  only  Jack  would  write!  " 

Irma  was  confused.  Her  delight  in  thinking 
that  Stanwood  had  deserted  Sylvia  was  marred 
when  she  realized  that  if  Sylvia  wrote  as  if  regret- 
ting heavy  sleep  that  had  prevented  her  from  say- 
ing "  good-by  "  to  Jack,  then  it  was  evident  that 
Jack  had  not  only  been  there,  but  had  remained 
over  night.  Irma  was  not  only  angry  but  baffled. 

She  looked  toward  the  porch,  and  saw  the 
woman  reenter  the  house,  while  Sylvia  remained 
on  the  path  at  the  foot  of  the  steps,  as  if  waiting 
for  further  colloquy.  In  eager  haste  Irma  turned 
the  page,  and  there  found  another  bit  of  food  for 
curiosity:  "I  am  beginning  to  hate  the  name 
of  '  Elmore.'  Why  must  I  be  annoyed  by  him? 
Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  to  remain  here?" 

Then  more  items  of  expense  followed,  and 
Irma  was  about  to  turn  the  page  in  the  hope  of 
finding  another  interesting  bit  when,  on  looking 
up,  she  saw  Sylvia  turn,  as  if  about  to  leave  the 
porch.  Quick  as  a  flash  the  caller  dropped  the 
little  red  book  into  the  place  in  the  grass  where 
she  had  found  it.  When  Sylvia  rejoined  her, 
Irma  looked  as  unperturbed  as  if  she  had  been 
idly  waiting  for  her  return. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

POISONED    DARTS 

UNDER  a  calm  exterior,  Irma  was  really 
wild  with  excitement,  Sylvia,  expecting 
to  find  her  impatient,  and  bored  with 
awaiting  her  return,  was  surprised  at  the  unusual 
brightness  in  her  eyes,  the  heightened  color  of  her 
cheeks. 

Irma  saw  the  curious  look,  and  because  she  was 
guilty,  flushed  a  deeper  red. 

How  calmly,  yet  how  fixedly  Sylvia  surveyed 
her.  Did  she  know?  Had  she  turned  while  the 
little  red  book  was  being  robbed  of  its  secret  con- 
fessions ?  Irma  could  not  tell,  but  she  was  uneasy. 
She  knew  that  she  had  endeavored  to  keep  care- 
ful watch  while  reading,  but  might  not  Sylvia 
have  turned  at  a  moment  when  she  was  closely 
scanning  a  page? 

"  It  is  very  warm,"  she  ventured;  "  my  cheeks 
are  burning." 

"  I  thought  it  rather  fine  to-day,"  Sylvia  re- 
199 


200         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

plied,  "  but  you  have  had  a  long  walk,  and  of 
course  the  sun  was  hot." 

The  words  were  kindly,  but  the  clear  eyes  of  the 
speaker  seemed  closely  scrutinizing,  and  again 
Irma  felt  the  color  rushing  to  her  cheeks,  making 
them  even  more  deeply  red  than  before.  She 
commenced  to  talk  rapidly  of  this  friend  and  that, 
and  Sylvia,  wholly  unaware  what  caused  the  con- 
fusion, believed  her  to  be  a  desperately  nervous 
girl. 

Nervous  she  surely  was,  but  the  malady  was 
immediate,  not  chronic. 

Sylvia  herself,  always  at  ease,  now,  for  the  first 
time,  found  herself  at  loss  as  to  how  best  to  enter- 
tain the  strange,  self-invited,  and  surely  unwel- 
come guest.  She  had  seen  but  little  of  Irma  Del- 
win,  and  had  blamed  herself  for  a  strong  aversion 
for  which  she  could  not  account. 

Irma,  at  first  elated  by  the  written  lines  that 
had  told  how  deeply  Sylvia  longed  for  Jack,  had 
been  dismayed,  upon  reading  farther  on,  lines 
that  plainly  proved  that  Jack  Stanwood  had  been 
a  visitor  at  "  The  Three  Birches."  Ardently 
she  admired  him.  Annoyed  she  had  ever  been 
that  he  had  invariably  shown  no  craving  for  her 
society.  After  Sylvia's  departure,  she  had  sought 
to  win  his  attention,  and  she  -had  burned  with 


POISONED  DARTS  201 

anger  when  all  invitations  sent  to  him  had  been 
courteously  declined. 

Invited  to  an  afternoon  at  home,  he  had  pleaded 
urgent  business  that  made  his  acceptance  impos- 
sible. A  previous  engagement  made  it  equally 
impossible  for  him  to  appear  at  a  reception  at 
her  summer  home.  She  had  written  a  personal 
invitation  for  a  week-end  house-party,  and  Jack 
had  sent  regrets.  He  was  to  be  out  of  town  for 
that  week,  he  said.  Graceful  notes  they  were, 
breathing  courteous  thanks  for  the  invitations,  but 
always  they  held  some  apparently  valid  reason 
for  his  non-appearance. 

Irma  had  of  course  wondered  if,  when  "  out 
of  town,"  he  was  with  Sylvia  at  "  The  Three 
Birches."  The  hastily  scribbled  lines  in  the  little 
red  book  had  first  denied,  and  then  admitted. 
How  was  one  to  understand  them? 

"  Sylvia  would  not  long  for  him  if  he  were  often 
here,"  thought  Irma,  and  then:  "But  he  has 
been  here,  when  she  overslept,  so  did  not  bid  him 
1  good-by.'  '  Truly  it  was  puzzling. 

And  who  bore  the  name  of  Elmore  ?  Why  was 
Sylvia  beginning  to  hate  it?  As  if  these  queries 
were  not  enough  to  fully  occupy  Irma's  busy  brain, 
another  presented  itself:  "  How  can  I  so  care- 
fully question  her,  that  she  will  not  realize  any 


202         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

underlying  motive,  and  thus  will  make  replies  that 
give  me  the  knowledge  that  I  came  here  to  ob- 
tain?" 

She  sought  a  subject  of  indifferent  interest  and 
spoke  of  the  Club  to  which  both  she  and  Sylvia 
had  belonged,  and  for  a  time  they  talked  of  those 
members  with  whom  both  had  been  acquainted. 

"  The  annual  reception  and  dance  last  week 
was  quite  the  finest  the  Club  has  ever  given,"  Irma 
said.  "  And  of  course  Mrs.  Huntington  Ard- 
more  was  easily  the  most  important  person  in  the 
receiving  line.  She's  exceedingly  busy  now  plan- 
ning for  fall  entertaining.  Oh,  not  really  plan- 
ning so  early.  Perhaps  scheming  would  be  the 
better  word." 

"  I  never  heard  any  one  speak  of  Mrs.  Ard- 
more  as  a  '  schemer,'  '  Sylvia  said.  "  Aunt 
Daphne  seemed  to  like  her." 

'  Well,  why  wouldn't  she?  "  Irma  said,  quickly. 
"  Your  Aunt  Daphne's  position  is  such  that  she 
can  give  or  withhold  favors  according  as  her  will 
dictates,  and  Mrs.  Ardmore,  desperately  eager  to 
be  on  Mrs.  Van  Horn's  list,  worked  in  every  way 
to  win  her  favor,  even  to  agreeing  that  you  should 
make  a  more  advantageous  match  than  that  which 
you  had  chosen  for  yourself.  Naturally  Mrs. 
Van  Horn  was  pleased  to  find  at  least  one  person 


POISONED  DARTS  203 

who  agreed  with  her,  and  now  they  are  firm 
friends." 

A  shade  passed  over  Sylvia's  face,  so  faint  that 
only  one  who  watched  her  as  intently  as  Irma  was 
watching  would  have  noticed  it. 

"  Aunt  Daphne  was  never  intimate  with  any 
of  her  friends,"  Sylvia  said,  for  she  doubted 
what  Irma  had  said. 

'  Well,  she  is  intimate  now,  if  she  never  was 
before,  with  Mrs.  Ardmore,  and  when  I  said  that 
Fannie's  mother  was  scheming,  I  knew  that  to  be 
true,  too.  What  do  you  think  of  her  week-end 
house-parties?  " 

"  What  a  question,  Irma !  You  know  I  am 
never. present  now  at  the  Ardmores',  or  for  that 
matter,  at  any  social  functions,  and  have  not  been 
since  I  left  Aunt  Daphne's  home  and  came  here." 

"  Oh,  well  I  supposed  that  you  heard  reports 
of  social  doings  from  time  to  time.  I  didn't 
know  but  Jack  Stanwood  kept  you  posted." 

It  was  a  bold  stroke,  but  apparently  ineffective. 
Sylvia,  ignoring  her  last  statement,  replied  to  the 
first  remark. 

"  Since  I  am  to  remain  in  this  dull  place  for 
the  present,  it  is  best,  I  think,  to  hear  as  little  as 
possible  of  the  bright  life  that  has,  until  now, 
been  mine." 


204         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Irma  stared.  Was  it  tact  that  formed  that  re- 
ply, or  did  Sylvia  fail  to  realize  that  the  girl  who 
so  closely  watched  her  was  prying? 

"  Of  course  every  one  knows  that  Fannie  is  wild 
over  Jack,"  Irma  said. 

Sylvia  smiled,  and  a  sudden  light  came  into  her 
eyes.  A  light  of  understanding.  Again  she 
parried. 

"  Fannie  is  so  quiet,  that  it's  hard  to  think  of 
her  as  absolutely  '  wild  '  over  any  one,"  she  said. 

Irma,  childishly  vexed  at  failing  to  win  the 
knowledge  that  she  sought,  pointed  her  next  re- 
mark sharply. 

"  Well,  if  you  saw  them  together,  you  would 
realize  that  there's  one  person  on  earth  that  can 
rouse  Fannie  Ardmore,  and  make  her  look  every 
inch  alive,  and  that  person  is  Jack  Stanwood. 
For  that  matter,  Jack  himself  looks  far  from  in- 
different." 

It  was  a  cruel  speech,  and  false  as  well,  and 
it  had  been  uttered  with  malicious  intent,  but 
Irma  obtained  but  little  satisfaction  from  it,  for 
at  that  moment  Aunt  Zilla  called  and  Sylvia  be- 
lieved that  in  all  her  life  she  had  never  been  so 
glad  of  an  interruption. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  we  will  go  in  and  while  I 
help  Aunt  Zilla,  possibly  you  may  find  something 


POISONED  DARTS  205 

in  the  bookcase  for  a  companion  for  the  short 
time  that  I  leave  you." 

Sylvia  fled  from  the  room  and  out  to  the  little 
side  doorway.  Aunt  Zilla,  needing  no  assistance, 
was  somewhat  surprised  at  the  girl's  sudden  ap- 
pearance. 

She  had  wished  only  to  ask  Sylvia  a  few  ques- 
tions, and  her  face  showed  actual  amazement. 
Sylvia  leaned  against  the  door-frame,  drinking  in 
the  breeze,  and  trying  to  calm  herself  so  that  she 
might  return  to  the  living-room,  with  at  least  the 
appearance  of  one  whom  an  arrow  had  missed. 

Aunt  Zilla  laid  a  kindly  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"  Sylvia,  I  don't  noways  think  ye're  enjoyin' 
that  gal  in  there,"  she  said,  pointing  backward 
over  her  shoulder  toward  the  living-room.  "  Is 
she  pesterin'  ye,  Sylvia?  " 

Her  usually  sharp  eyes  were  now  softened  by 
a  look  of  deep  concern.  Sylvia  nodded,  and,  for 
a  second,  pressed  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

"  Don't  see  her  again,"  whispered  Aunt  Zilla. 
"  I'll  git  lunch,  an'  see  that  she's  well  fed,  an' 
then  I'll  let  her  go.  Go  up  ter  yer  room,  I'll 
tell  her  ye  don't  feel  well,  an'  ye  kin  be  relieved 
er  her  comp'ny  sooner  'n  ye  — " 

"  Oh,  no,  no,"  Sylvia  whispered.  '  That  would 
never  do." 


206         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  I  don't  see  why  'tain't  jest  the  thing  to  do," 
complained  the  would-be  comforter,  a  bit  hurt  that 
her  plan  to  relieve  the  situation  was  not  approved. 

"  Oh,  because  it  would  not  do.  I'll  tell  you  why 
after  she's  gone.  I'll  go  back  to  her  now,  and  you 
will  be  with  us  at  lunch,  and  after  lunch,  leave  the 
dishes,  and  stay  every  moment  with  us.  Every 
moment,  Aunt  Zilla,  remember.  Don't  leave  us 
for  so  much  as  a  second!  " 

Aunt  Zilla  promised,  and  resolved  that,  while 
not  comprehending,  she  would  blindly  obey. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MISCHIEF   BREWING 

SYLVIA  afterward  wondered  how  she  had 
managed  calmly  to   get  through  that  try- 
ing day.     She  remembered  that,   at  lunch, 
Aunt  Zilla  was  at  the  table,  and  that,  in  a  des- 
perate attempt  to  promote  conversation,  and  at 
the  same  time  keep  it  impersonal,  she  had  chosen 
the  most  unique  subjects,  the  various  topics  being 
startlingly  irrelevant. 

At  any  other  time,  the  drollness  of  it  all  would 
have  made  her  long  to  laugh,  but  at  the  time,  she 
was  aware  of  but  one  fact:  that  Aunt  Zilla  was 
talking  continuously,  and  that  while  her  nimble 
tongue  raced  from  one  subject  to  another,  Irma 
could  find  no  chance  to  be  annoying. 

She  did  not  know  of  the  girl's  infatuation  for 
Jack,  so  saw  no  motive  for  the  trip,  or  for  her 
evident  pleasure  in  connecting  his  name  with  that 
of  Fannie  Ardmore.  She  did  not  dream  that  gos- 
sip had  already  questioned  if  her  own  going  away 

from  all  that  had  hitherto  made  life  bright  for 

307 


208        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

her  meant  that  she  and  Jack  had  broken  friend- 
ship. 

The  engagement  had  been  secret,  but  tongues 
wagged  because  she  was  absent  from  the  city, 
while  Jack  remained,  closely  occupied  with  busi- 
ness during  the  day,  and  seen  occasionally  at  social 
gatherings,  apparently  enjoying  evenings  thus 
spent. 

Sylvia  knew  that,  after  lunch,  they  had  returned 
to  the  living-room,  where  again  Aunt  Zilla  demon- 
strated her  ability  to  talk  without  cessation. 

Once,  Sylvia  recalled,  Irma  found  a  loophole, 
when  Aunt  Zilla  paused  for  breath,  and  that  she 
grasped  the  opportunity  to  ask  if  there  were  a 
family  in  Blossomville  named  Elmore. 

"  Why,  yes,"  Aunt  Zilla  answered,  "  or  I  s'pose 
there  is.  There's  Squire  Luke  Elmore,  but  after 
all,  I  do'no'  if  he's  any  family." 

"  Oh,  is  he  single?"  Irma  asked. 

"  He's  single,  but  he  may  have  some  rel'tives 
for  aught  I  know.  He's  got  means,  'n'  he's  called 
wealthy  round  these  parts, — " 

The  tip  of  Sylvia's  toe  touched  Aunt  Zilla's 
stout  shoe,  with  an  admonitory  pressure.  Hav- 
ing been  given  a  hint  that,  for  some  reason,  Sylvia 
was  not  enjoying  her  visito'r,  Aunt  Zilla  at  once 
thought  that  the  gentle  pressure  meant  that  she 


MISCHIEF  BREWING          209 

was  treading  upon  forbidden  ground,  and  she  let 
the  subject  drop.  She  talked  of  other  things  but 
over  and  over  in  her  mind  revolved  these  ques- 
tions. 

"  Did  she  tell  me  not  to  talk  of  the  Squire? 
Of  course  not,  so  what  did  she  mean  by  touchin' 
my  foot?  What  did  I  say  that  could  interest  any 
one?  I  only  said  he  might  have  rel'tives,  an'  so 
he  might." 

Although  lunch  was  served  quite  a  bit  after  one, 
the  afternoon  seemed  interminable,  and  when 
Irma  arose  to  go,  not  even  courtesy  could  force 
Sylvia  to  urge  her  to  remain  longer.  Aunt  Zilla 
was  silent. 

It  was  not  until  a  half-hour  after  her  departure 
that  it  occurred  to  either  that  she  had  walked 
off  up  the  road  as  if  with  some  definite  objective 
point.  What  did  she  intend  to  do?  She  surely 
knew  that  she  could  not  walk  to  the  station. 
Why,  then,  had  she  not  remained  at  "  The 
Three  Birches  "  until  the  stage-coach  that  would 
pass  the  house  had  arrived? 

A  spare  figure,  clad  in  a  gown  of  black  silk  that 
bore  evidence  of  having  been  "  turned  "  until, 
from  constant  wear,  it  was  "  done  to  a  crisp,"  a 
small  turban,  with  an  upright,  bristling  feather 
crowning  her  head,  and  a  handkerchief  grasped 


210        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

in  her  cotton-gloved  hand,  came  tramping  along 
the  road.  Her  manner  was  so  intensely  resolute 
that  it  appeared  almost  defiant,  as  if  she  were 
bent  upon  an  errand,  and,  for  some  reason,  ex- 
pected to  be  opposed. 

She  noticed,  far  ahead,  a  figure  that,  even  at 
that  distance,  looked  to  be  a  human  rainbow,  and 
she  frowned  in  disapproval  of  such  frivolous  at- 
tire. On  came  the  rose-colored  muslin-clad  figure. 
Forward  to  meet  it  tramped  the  grim  form  in 
black.  The  girl's  face  was  flushed  and  eager; 
the  old  woman's  stern  and  unrelenting.  Irma 
smiled,  but  the  other  did  not  respond.  Irma  was 
always  confident  of  pleasing  any  one  save  Jack 
Stanwood.  She  had  been  confident  regarding 
him,  but  she  was  beginning  to  wonder  if,  after  all, 
he  were  so  strongly  attached  to  Sylvia,  so  sincere 
in  his  allegiance,  that  nothing  could  shake  his 
constancy. 

Girl  and  old  woman  now  stood  face  to  face, 
and  Irma  hastened  to  inquire,  "  Can  you  tell  me 
where  Mr.  Luke  Elmore  lives?" 

"  I  can,  young  lady,  but  will  I?  "  Dorcas  asked, 
sharply. 

Irma's  temper  prompted  her  to  make  a  saucy 
reply,  but  she  chose  to  ignore  the  woman's  rude- 


MISCHIEF  BREWING          211 

ness,  hoping,  thereby,  to  get  the  coveted  informa- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  but  please  tell  me,"  she  urged,  and  Dorcas 
Dale,  somewhat  mollified,  turned  sharply  about, 
pointed  a  lean  finger  toward  a  sign-board  that 
stood  at  the  corner  where  two  roads  met,  and 
ejaculated: 

"  See  that  sign  that  says  '  This  way  ter  Durlin- 
ton  '  ?  Wai,  that  pints  as  straight  as  an  arrer  ter 
the  Elmore  farm.  Ye  couldn't  miss  it.  That 
piece  o'  red  roof  that  shows  jest  above  them 
trees,  is  the  top  o'  the  barn.  The  house  is  be- 
yond, an'  faces  on  another  road  'n  this.  It's 
quite  a  walk  from  here,  but  the  place  is  wuth 
lookin'  at  when  ye  git  there.  D'ye  know  the 
Squire?" 

Ignoring  the  question,  Irma  thanked  her,  and, 
to  avoid  further  queries,  walked  briskly  away 
down  the  road  toward  that  distant  red  roof. 

"  He  is  single,  possibly  no  relatives,  and  fairly 
well-to-do.  In  a  place  like  this,  he  is  doubtless 
rated  as  a  nabob.  In  New  York  — "  she  laughed, 
then.  "  Fortunately  he's  not  in  New  York!  " 

When  at  last  she  reached  the  border  of  the 
Elmore  farm,  she  slackened  her  pace  and  ap- 
peared to  be  passing,  while  out  for  a  stroll. 


212         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Slowly  she  passed,  but  while  she  obtained  a  clear 
idea  of  the  property,  noting  the  well-kept  build- 
ings, the  rolling  lawn  in  front,  and  the  wide- 
spreading  acres  beyond,  she  caught  not  so  much 
as  a  glimpse  of  its  owner. 

"  Never  mind,"  she  whispered,  as  if  endeavor- 
ing to  down  her  disappointment,  "  I'll  not  be 
obliged  to  describe  him.  I've  enough  material 
without  that."  One  might  have  thought  that  the 
sight  of  the  Elmore  place  had  acted  as  a  tonic,  for 
her  eyes  were  bright  and  her  step  elastic  as  she 
returned  over  the  long  road,  on  her  way  to  the 
place,  where  earlier  in  the  day  she  had  left  the 
coach. 

Dorcas  Dale,  grim  and  silent,  had  stood  watch- 
ing the  girl  as  she  followed  the  direction  which 
the  old  woman's  lean  figure  had  indicated.  Irma 
had  felt  that  the  sharp  eyes  were  following  her 
every  movement.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  must 
turn  about,  and  know  if  that  were  true,  but  she 
did  not.  Instead  she  quickened  her  pace,  and  she 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  when  a  row  of  willows 
intervened,  and  the  old  woman,  whoever  she  might 
be,  could  not  watch  her.  Dorcas  stood  a  bit 
longer,  and  then  went  on  her  way. 

"  Queer!  "  she  muttered.  "  Queer,  an'  more'n 
queer  fer  comp'ny  ter  be  comin'  ter  the  Elmore 


MISCHIEF  BREWING          213 

place,  an'  him  not  callin'  fer  'em  at  the  deepot, 
Funny  too,  as  he  didn't  drive  over,  that  that  gal 
didn't  git  inter  the  coach  an'  ride  over.  Ef  she'd 
been  a  shabby  pusson,  I'd  think  she  didn't  hev  a 
quarter  ter  give  Jimson,  but  that  gal  an'  them 
clothes  don't  go  with  pov'ty.  I  wouldn't  be 
s'prised  ef  she  had  as  much  as  a  dollar  in  her 
pocket."  She  hurried  a  bit  to  make  up  for  the 
time  that  she  had  spent  watching  Irma.  She 
wished  that  the  girl  had  been  more  communicative. 
It  would  have  been  interesting  to  know  if  she  were 
to  remain  for  a  visit,  and  if  she  were  a  relative. 
Did  she  know  that  Luke  Elmore's  housekeeper 
was  crabbed;  that  she  disliked  guests  at  the  house, 
and  that  she  watched  for  opportunities,  when  her 
master  was  not  present,  to  suggest  that  a  lengthy 
visit  was  not  expected?  Dorcas  knew  that  while 
Luke  Elmore  was  a  genial  host,  his  housekeeper 
believed  literally  in  "  speeding  the  parting  guest." 
"  Ef  she's  a  rel'tive,  that's  one  thing,  but  ef  she 
ain't  a  rel'tive,  she's  bold  a-goin'  there  ter  visit. 
I  do  wonder  how  long  she'll  stay." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    CLOSED    DOOR 

DORCAS  DALE  could  not  have  told  why 
she  went  up  the  garden  path  on  tiptoe,  or 
why  she  felt  frightened  when  the  knocker 
fell  with  a  clatter  so  much  louder  than  she  had 
intended. 

Aunt  Zilla,  happening  to  be  in  the  hall,  admitted 
her  promptly.  Dorcas,  thinking  of  the  girl 
in  pink,  on  passing  through  the  hall,  could  not 
dismiss  her  from  her  mind  when  sitting,  prim  and 
erect  by  the  window  in  the  living-room.  They 
had  talked  of  the  weather  until  nothing  more  could 
be  said  regarding  it,  until  each  wished  that  the 
other  could  suggest  a  new  topic. 

"Had  many  callers  since  ye  come?" 

"  No,  but  I've  an  idee  that  ef  the  hull  village 
come,  'twouldn't  be  a  huge  crowd." 

"  Oh,  I  do'no'.  Countin'  men,  women,  an' 
children  'twould  be  quite  a  gatherin'.  Be  ye  lone- 
some here?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  Aunt  Zilla  admitted,  wondering 
214 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR  215 

that  any  sensible  person  should  ask  a  question  to 
which  there  could  be  but  one  answer. 

"  Is  Miss  Sylvia  ter  home?  " 

"  No,  she's  not  in.  She  had  comp'ny  all  the 
morning;  in  fact,  the  gal  only  left  here  'bout  half 
an  hour  'fore  you  come.  I  guess  Sylvia  was  sort 
o'  tired.  She  said  her  head  ached,  an'  I  told  her 
a  walk  would  do  her  good,  so  she  went  off  up  the 
wood-road." 

Dorcas  Dale's  eyes  brightened. 

"  S'pos  'twas  the  gal  that  I  see  a  while  ago? 
She  was  goin'  ter  visit  Luke  Elmore.  Least 
ways,  she  axed  me  ter  d'rect  her  ter  his  place." 

"  'Twant  no  Blossomville  gal  that  come  ter  see 
Sylvia.  'Twas  a  New  York  gal,  an'  dressed  in 
some  style,  I  tell  ye,"  Aunt  Zilla  said  sharply. 
Did  the  caller  think  Sylvia  a  country  lass,  whose 
friends  would  be  other  country  lassies? 

Dorcas  Dale  was  now  wild  with  curiosity.  She 
leaned  forward,  her  eagerness  making  her  eyes 
actually  piercing. 

"  Did  she  wear  a  pink  gown,  an'  a  hat  with  a 
half  a  bushel  o'  roses  on  it?  "  she  asked. 

"Why  yes.  How  d'you  know?"  Aunt  Zilla 
gasped. 

"  'Cause  I  see  her,  I  tell  ye,  an'  she  axed  me  ter 
tell  her  where  Squire  Elmore  lived." 


216         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Must  been  some  one  hereabouts  that  ye  met. 
Why,  Miss  Dale,  what  on  airth  would  a  New 
York  gal  be  gal'vantin'  round  here  a-huntin'  fer 
Squire  Elmore,  or  anybody  else?  Fust  place,  she 
don't  know  'em,  so  why  would  she  be  wantin'  ter 
see'em?  " 

"  All  the  same,  I'll  ventur  'twas  the  very  gal 
'twas  here  that  I  see.  Why,  Mis'  Bond,  there 
wouldn't  never  be  two  people  dressed  like  that  in 
this  village  at  one  time.  Say!  Did  the  one  that 
come  ter  see  Miss  Sylvia  hev  a  little  glitterin'  sil- 
ver bag  in  her  hand,  an'  a  pink  sunshade  like  her 
gown?  Did  she?  An'  a  chain  with  a  little 
sparklin'  thing  on  it,  round  her  neck?  " 

Aunt  Zilla  nodded. 

"The  same  gal,  I  tell  ye!  Now  ain't  that 
queer  that  she  come  ter  see  Miss  Sylvia,  an'  ye 
didn't  neither  of  ye  know  she  was  'quainted  with 
the  Squire?  Wai,  don't  that  beat  all  hemlock?  " 

Aunt  Zilla  thought  it  did,  but  suddenly  she  re- 
membered the  admonitory  pressure  of  Sylvia's 
foot  under  the  table.  She  resolved  to  say  no 
more  on  the  subject  to  this  stranger,  but  to  tell 
Sylvia  immediately  upon  her  return. 

Finding  that,  for  some  reason,  Aunt  Zilla  ap- 
peared all  at  once  to  have  lost  interest  in  the  sub- 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR  217 

ject,  Dorcas  Dale  turned  to  another  topic  that  she 
considered  important. 

"  Do  ye  use  the  big  room  on  the  other  side  er 
the  hall?" 

"  No." 

"  'S  that  so  ?'  Wai,  I've  noticed  the  blinds  was 
shet  whenever  I've  been  by,  but  ye  open  'em  some- 
times, don't  ye?  " 

"  No,  we  don't  never  open  'em,  an'  I  may  as 
well  tell  ye,  we  don't  never  go  in  there.  Ye'll 
likely  be  askin'  me  why,  so  I'll  say  that  the  door 
er  that  room  is  locked  an'  bolted,  an'  fer  fear 
that  ain't  'nough,  it's  nailed  up,  so  I  couldn't  in- 
vite ye  in  there.  We  hain't  hankered  ter  hev 
the  door  undid." 

"Guess  not,"  agreed  Dorcas,  "Why,  do  ye 
know,  Mis'  Bond,  they,  tell  more  yarns  'bout  that 
room,  an'  some  prob'ly  ain't  so,  but  there's  a 
chance  that  some  is  true.  Fer  one  thing,  there's 
them  as  tells  that  there's  treasure-chests  in  there 
chuck-full  o'  gems  worth  millions.  Then  there's 
others  that  wants  ter  know  where  the  portrait  er 
the  fust  Sylvia  Durant  is,  what  died  here,  an' 
there's  some  that  declares  that — ,"  she  paused, 
and  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  that  door  across 
the  hall  — "  that  there's  a  skel'ton  hid  in  there, 


218        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

an'  say  —  how  can  ye  stand  livin'  here?"     She 
shivered  as  she  concluded  the  sentence. 

"  Ye  never  know  what  ye're  ekal  ter,  til  ye  try 
it.  I  promised  Sylvia  I'd  be  her  housekeeper,  and 
I  said  I'd  be  a  good  friend  ter  her,  an'  I'm  likely 
ter  keep  my  promise." 

"  Wai,  I  guess  ye're  a  good  sort,"  Dorcas  said, 
"  but  land  sakes !  I  do  wish  that  door  was  open. 
I'm  'bout  wild  ter  know  what's  on  the  other  side 
of  it.  Ain't  you?" 

"  Sometimes  I'd  like  ter  open  that  door,  an' 
then  again,  there's  times  when  I'm  glad  I  can't. 
Take  a  day  when  the  wind  is  a-blowin',  an'  the 
rain  a-peltin'  fit  ter  smash  I  Why,  on  a  day  like 
that  ye  couldn't  hire  me  ter  open  that  door.  No, 
sir!  I  wouldn't  so  much  as  touch  the  handle!  " 

"  I  do'no'  but  I'd  feel  the  same  if  I  lived  here," 
agreed  Dorcas,  "  but  as  tis,  I  do  feel  cur'ous  'bout 
that  room.  How  does  Miss  Sylvia  feel  'bout  it?  " 

"  I  hain't  heard  her  say,  but  ye  must  know  this 
place  is  dull  fer  her.  She  had  all  that  was  gay 
when  she  lived  with  her  aunt." 

'  Then  fer  the  land  sakes,  what  ever  brung 

her    here?"    gasped    Dorcas,    in    astonishment. 

'  We  beared  her  rich  aunt  turned  her  out.     Ain't 

that      so?     Massy!     What's      that?"      Dorcas 

shivered. 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR  219 

She  thought  the  groaning,  creaking  sound  had 
come  from  the  closed  room. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  swinging  sign  creakin'  as  the 
wind  swings  it.  Don't  ye  know  it's  over  the  door 
on  that  side  o'  the  house?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  do  know  that  the  old  tavern  sign 
hangs  there,  but  land !  Knowin'  what  makes  the 
noise  don't  make  it  sound  much  better  to  me.  I 
guess  I'll  be  goin',  an'  I'll  say  now,  I'm  pretty 
busy,  so  I  couldn't  come  often,  but  I'd  be  pleased 
ter  hev  ye  call  on  me  at  any  time." 

"  I  thank  ye,"  Aunt  Zilla  replied,  "  but  I'm 
some  busy,  too." 

She  stood  in  the  doorway,  and  nodded  to  her 
departing  caller,  when,  on  the  road,  she  turned  to 
look  back.  Then  closing  the  door,  she  returned 
to  her  comfortable  rocker. 

"  One  newsmonger  disposed  of,"  she  whis- 
pered, and  then:  '  The  old  sign  did  us  a  good 
turn!" 

As  she  sat  slowly  rocking,  the  same  question 
that  had  puzzled  her  while  her  caller  was  talking, 
came  back  with  redoubled  force,  and  she  spoke 
sharply  as  if  one  who  possessed  the  knowledge 
were  sitting  before  her,  and  might,  if  she  chose, 
answer. 

"  I  tell  ye  it  couldn't  be  that  that  Delwin  gal 


220        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

left  this  house,  an'  then  went  prancin'  clear  across 
the  town  ter  visit  Luke  Elmore.  It's  redic'lous! 
She  don't  know  him !  " 

Sylvia,  returning  from  her  long  walk,  entered 
the  side  door  just  in  time  to  hear  Aunt  Zilla's  last 
words. 

She  was  a  bit  tired,  and  the  tramp  along  the 
shady  road  had  done  her  but  little  good,  because 
all  the  way  thoughts  of  the  unpleasant  visitor  had 
filled  her  mind,  and  it  was  with  a  heavy  heart  that 
she  had  pushed  the  garden  gate  open  and  en- 
tered. 

"  Irma  returns  to  pleasure,  and  I  to  this  wretch- 
edly lonely  house,"  she  thought.  As  she  reached 
the  dining-room  she  heard  Aunt  Zilla's  voice,  shrill 
with  anger: 

"  It's  redic'lous!  She  don't  know  him!  " 
'  Whom  can  she  be  talking  to?"  Sylvia  whis- 
pered, and  too  weary  to  think  of  meeting,  or  help- 
ing to  entertain  a  possible  caller,  she  waited  for 
conversation  to  be  resumed,  when  with  noiseless 
tread  she  might  return  to  the  rear  of  the  house, 
and,  by  a  back  stairway,  reach  her  room.  She 
was  wondering  why  no  one  spoke,  when,  in  shift- 
ing from  one  foot  to  the  other,  the  floor  creaked, 
and  Aunt  Zilla  darted  out,  sure  that  some  stranger 
had  entered. 


THE  CLOSED  DOOR  221 

'  That  you  Sylvia  ?  Wai,  I  declare  I'm  glad 
ye've  come.  I've  had  a  caller  since  ye  went  out, 
an' —  oh  ye  needn't  look  toward  the  livin'-room 
fer  she's  gone,  but  between  that  flighty  thing  that 
riled  ye  so  this  mornin'  an'  the  pusson  what's 
jest  left,  I'm  'bout  wild.  Come  an'  set  down 
while  I  tell  ye." 

Sylvia  listened  to  a  detailed  description  of  Dor- 
cas Dale,  seeming  listless  until  Aunt  Zilla  said: 

"  Don't  ye  remember  we  both  felt  glad  when 
Irma  Delwin  said  she  must  go?  " 

Sylvia  nodded  assent. 

**  We  didn't  neither  of  us  ask  her  ter  stay,  but 
'twas  after  she  was  gone  that  it  occurred  ter  us 
that  'twas  a  leetle  strange  that  she  started  off  so 
long  before  the  coach  would  pass  the  house." 

"  I  know,"  Sylvia  said,  slowly. 

"  Wall,  Miss  Dorcas  Dale  says  she  met  her 
some  ways  from  here,  an'  the  gal  inquired  the  way 
ter  the  Elmore  place,  an'  she  d'rected  her.  Now, 
what  d'ye  make  er  that?  " 

"  As  that  woman  could  not  know  Irma,  I  do 
not  see  why  she  should  think  that  our  visitor  and 
the  girl  that  she  met  were  one  and  the  same." 

"  Sylvia,  /  b'lieve  'twas  her,  fer  that  ol'  critter 
said  she  was  stylish,  that  she  wore  a  pink  gown, 
a  hat  with  a  hull  batch  o'  roses  on  it,  a  chain  with 


222        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

a  little  sparklin'  thing  hangin'  to  it,  round  her 
neck,  an'  in  her  hands  a  glitterin'  silver  bag.  Yes, 
an'  a  sunshade,  pink  like  her  gown.  I  tell  ye, 
Sylvia,  it  looks  queer,  but  ye  well  know  that  there 
couldn't  hev  been  two  gals  dressed  out  like  that  in 
Blossomville  to-day!  " 

"  I  remember,  at  the  table,  Irma  asked  you  if 
there  was  a  family  here  named  Elmore,  and  when 
you  said  that  Luke  Elmore  lived  here,  but  that 
you  did  not  know  if  he  had  relatives,  she  looked 
up  brightly,  and  she  said:  'Oh,  is  he  single?' 
Don't  you  remember,  Aunt  Zilla?  " 

"  I  do,  and  I  wish  I  knew  what  it  meant,  and 
why  she  was  so  full  of  asking  us  all  about  him." 

"  Why  should  she  wish  to  meet  Luke  Elmore  ? 
What  could  her  object  be?  "  Sylvia  said  in  a  low 
voice. 

Long  after  she  should  have  been  sleeping  that 
night,  she  lay  thinking,  thinking,  and  again,  al- 
though no  one  was  near  to  answer,  she  murmured : 
"  What  could  her  object  be?  " 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE    SECOND   MRS.    DELWIN 

MRS.  HORATIO  DELWIN  believed  her- 
self to  be  the  luckiest  woman  in  her 
set.  Every  one  knew  that  Horatio  Del- 
win  was  possessed  of  great  wealth,  and  she  was 
very  glad  that  she  was  the  second,  not  the  first 
Mrs.  Delwin.  Had  not  the  first  Mrs.  Delwin 
born  two  children?  Had  she  not  lost  the  first; 
and  then,  oh,  but  fate  had  been  unkind,  lost  her 
life  when  the  second,  Irma,  was  born?  Yes,  in- 
deed, being  the  first  Mrs.  Delwin  was  no  joke, 
but  being  the  second  Mrs.  Delwin;  ah,  that  was 
delightful ! 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  doubled  his  posses- 
sions at  about  the  time  that  he  had  buried  his 
first  wife,  and  as  to  the  care  of  the  child  —  well, 
people  said  that  that  had  never  weighed  very 
heavily  on  the  mind  of  the  woman  who  consid- 
ered the  magnificent  home  on  the  avenue  hers, 
and  believed  herself  very  kind  that  she  had  never 
attempted  to  have  the  daughter  of  the  house 
placed  elsewhere. 

223 


224        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

To  be  sure,  she  knew  that  such  an  attempt 
would  have  proven  futile,  that  it  surely  would 
have  caused  a  breach  between  her  husband  and 
herself,  but  she  would  not  admit  that.  It  was 
pleasanter  to  think  of  the  girl's  many  annoying 
ways,  and  then  to  tell  herself  how  wonderfully  for-, 
bearing  she  had  been. 

Eagerly  she  looked  forward  to  the  day  when 
Irma  should  marry,  and  then,  the  home  would  be 
hers  alone !  Stay !  There  was  the  master  of  the 
house.  Oh,  but  he  was  easily  managed.  Closely 
occupied  with  business  during  the  day,  he  long 
ago  had  learned  by  sad  experience  that  the  club 
was  far  more  congenial  than  the  home,  if  a  pleas- 
ant evening  were  to  be  enjoyed. 

Whenever  Irma  cornered  him,  in  an  attempt  to 
tell  her  latest  grievance,  she  was  always  turned 
about  with  a  gentle  pat  on  her  shoulder,  supposed 
to  dismiss  both  herself  and  whatever  troubled  her, 
and  a  check  that  he  honestly  believed  would  mend 
the  matter  thrust  into  her  hand.  Owing  to  a  close 
study  of  the  present  Mrs.  Delwin,  he  had  come  to 
believe  that  money  was  a  panacea  for  all  cravings 
of  the  feminine  heart.  He  considered  peace  a 
bargain  at  any  price,  and  he  was  forever  trying  to 
buy  it.  He  used  the  same  method  for  sidetrack- 
ing a  lengthy  dissertation  on  the  glaring  faults  in 


THE  SECOND  MRS.  DELWIN     225 

his  daughter's  character,  or  a  description  of  her 
latest  exhibition  of  having  a  will  of  her  own  and 
of  being  especially  averse  to  listening  to  reason. 

ll  I  declare,  Irma  is  so  upsetting,  that  my  nerves 
are  really  quivering!"  his  wife  remarked  one 
evening. 

A  tired  look  came  into  his  kindly  eyes.  An 
even-tempered  man,  he  wondered  how  it  was  that 
these  two  members  of  his  family  could  never  get 
on  together. 

Then  Mrs.  Delwin  languidly  declared  herself 
utterly  unable  to  cope  with  Irma,  a  statement  that 
she  had  made  an  hundred  times  before,  and  just 
as  on  those  other  occasions,  out  had  come  the 
check-book. 

"  Now,  do  try  to  smooth  matters  over  between 
you,"  he  said;  and  pacified,  not  satisfied,  Mrs. 
Delwin  later  saw  him  depart  for  his  club,  and 
decided  to  wait  for  a  better  opportunity  to  "  talk 
matters  over,"  when  a  still  larger  check  might  be 
forthcoming. 

With  the  check  tightly  clasped  in  her  nervous 
fingers,  she  hurried  to  her  room,  the  shimmering 
folds  of  her  satin  negligee  trailing  softly  behind 
her.  Going  to  the  low,  French  dresser,  she  took 
a  dainty  purse  from  a  drawer,  placed  the  check  in 
it,  replaced  the  purse  in  the  drawer,  and  then  sat 


226         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

down  to  think  matters  over.  It  was  surely  a 
vexing  problem  —  one  that  baffled  her  completely; 
and  the  girl's  father  had  refused  assistance,  prof- 
fering, as  usual,  a  substantial  check  in  lieu  of  coun- 
sel or  advice. 

He  had  left  the  house  in  disgust.  "  Only  an- 
other '  tantrum  ' !  "  he  had  muttered,  looking 
back  at  the  mansion  that  sheltered  dissension 
where  peace  should  have  reigned. 

"  If  I  could  see  any  reason  for  this  new  notion," 
Mrs.  Delwin  said,  softly,  "  I'd  have  some  idea 
how  to  work,  but  Irma  is  so  aggravating.  She 
will  not  tell  me  why  she  has  determined  upon  this 
absurd  trip,  but  just  stubbornly  insists  that  she  has 
planned  for  her  own  pleasure  and  that  she  shall 
carry  it  out.  Crazy,  simply  crazy !  Refuses  to 
go,  as  usual,  to  Newport,  refuses  to  go  to  any 
other  place  that  I  suggest,  but  in  all  enthusiasm, 
decides  to  spend  the  lovely  fall  months  in  a  poky 
little  country  place,  with  a  poor  relative,  who  is 
old,  and  as  deaf  as  a  post!  Really,  who  could 
understand  her?  " 

She  stretched  out  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  re- 
nunciation, as  if  the  subject  were  beyond  her  men- 
tal grasp  and  she,  therefore,  relinquished  it.  It 
was,  however,  but  the  impatient  mood  of  the  mo- 
ment. 


THE  SECOND  MRS.  DELWIN     227 

Mrs.  Delwin's  manner  of  relinquishing  any- 
thing was  to  throw  it  aside,  with  the  comforting 
knowledge  that,  before  letting  it  drop,  she  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  tie  a  string  to  it.  For  a 
time  she  sat  thinking.  A  dozen  times  she  had 
planned  a  marriage  for  her  stepdaughter,  not 
with  a  view  to  Irma's  happiness.  Of  course  not. 
Invariably  she  planned  for  her  own  happiness, 
but  each  time  the  scheme  had  failed,  and  Irma  still 
shtred  the  home. 

One  might  have  thought  the  great  house  large 
enough  for  two  women  to  inhabit  without  friction, 
but  time  and  again  it  had  been  demonstrated  that 
it  was  not  nearly  large  enough  for  these  two,  who 
seemed  to  have  "  agreed  to  disagree."  Mrs. 
Delwin  was  not  a  brilliant  woman,  her  reasoning 
was  never  logical,  but  she  possessed  one  attribute 
that  was  invaluable:  she  often  accomplished  that 
which  her  neighbors  strove  for  in  vain,  for  where 
they  had  pushed  knowledge  and  intellect  to  the 
front  to  attain  the  goal,  she,  with  only  intuition, 
had  snatched  the  prize,  without  apparent  effort. 
In  the  present  difficulty,  she  had  argued,  ridiculed, 
sneered  at  the  idea  that  Horatio  Delwin's  daugh- 
ter, whose  social  success  was  assured,  should  ever 
think  of  quitting  the  gay,  pleasure-seeking  throng 
to  spend  a  month,  two  months  —  longer  if  she 


228        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

chose  —  at  a  place  so  remote  that  its  name  was  not 
worth  mentioning,  and  with  a  relative  so  insig- 
nificant that  Mrs.  Delwin  had  quite  forgotten 
her.  Again  she  thought  aloud. 

"  Oh,  it  is  too  aggravating!  I  was  determined 
to  make  a  match  for  her  this  summer,  or  at  the 
latest,  in  the  fall,  and  I  meant  to  have  the  mar- 
riage follow  quickly.  Now,  she  upsets  my  plans 
by  deciding  to  go  to  that  little  out-of-the-way  place, 
where  she'll  see  no  one,  and  be  seen  by  no  one.  I 
can't  imagine  what  put  the  idea  in  her  head,  for 
I  do  believe  she  is  as  anxious  to  leave  this  house 
as  I  am  to  have  her  leave  it." 

Suddenly  her  mood  changed,  and  she  sprang 
to  her  feet. 

"  I  have  it !  "  she  cried.  "  I  have  it !  I'll  soon 
know  why  she  chooses  a  dull  old  hole  like  that 
instead  of  the  gay  sort  of  place  that  she  loves. 
I'll  cease  to  combat  her.  I'll  let  her  go  without 
further  remonstrance;  and  then,  after  a  time,  I'll 
take  a  little  trip  down  there,  and  I'll  learn  what 
the  attraction  is.  One  thing  I  already  know; 
it's  not  the  place,  nor  deaf  old  Cousin  Mehitabel 
that,  like  a  magnet,  draws  Irma  with  such  irresisti- 
ble force !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

A   LINK  IN  THE   CHAIN 

IRMA  had  come  and  gone,  and  only  one  wee 
corner  of  Blossomville  was  jarred  by  the  in- 
cident —  the  corner  where  two  roads  met  at 
an  acute  angle,  forming  the  triangular  garden  at 
"  The  Three  Birches." 

The  morning  after  her  departure,  Sylvia,  stand- 
ing on  the  narrow  path,  espied  the  little  red  book 
lying,  just  as  she  had  dropped  it,  open,  and  face 
downward  on  the  grass.  She  picked  it  up,  and 
the  lines  upon  which  her  eyes  first  looked  were 
the  very  lines  that  had  seemed  to  Irma  so  valuable 
for  future  use :  "  I  am  beginning  to  hate  the 
name  of  Elmore.  Why  must  I  be  annoyed  by 
him?  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  to  remain 
here?" 

Its  cover,  and  open  pages  were  wet  with  dew. 

"  How  careless  of  me  to  leave  you  here  for 
some  one  to  see,  and  be  amused  over,  although 
it's  not  as  if  I'd  left  you  in  the  road  where  any  one 
could  snatch  you  up.  Who  ever  enters  this  gar- 

229 


230        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

den?  "  And  as  if  in  answer  to  the  question,  her 
own  heart  dictated,  and  her  lips  uttered:  "  Irma 
was  here  yesterday !  "  It  seemed  an  unworthy 
thought,  and  she  tried  to  down  it. 

"  Oh,  but  Irma  would  not — ,"  but  before  the 
sentence  was  completed,  her  heart-promptings  in- 
terrupted :  "  Oh,  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

Then  a  thought,  clearly  defined  as  if  by  a  flash 
of  lightning,  came  to  her. 

"  I  wondered  where  she  knew  the  name,  El- 
more,  and  that  any  one  of  that  name  lived  here. 
Now,  I  believe  I  know.  This  little  red  book, 
with  its  written  lines  on  the  open  page,  supplied  a 
name  that  whetted  her  curiosity." 

Sylvia  remembered  it  all  now.  She  had  found 
Irma  waiting  for  her  return  to  her  place  on  the 
garden-seat,  and  while  the  expression  of  her  face 
had  been  innocent,  her  cheeks  had  been  deeply 
flushed,  nay  crimson.  Later  at  the  table  she  had 
seemed  very  curious  regarding  the  name,  "  El- 
more,"  and  hau  asked  if  a  person  of  that  name 
lived  in  Blossomville,  and  numerous  other  ques- 
tions, seeming  greatly  interested  when  Aunt  Zilla 
had  said  that  he  was  single.  Then,  too,  she  had 
left  the  house  long  before  the  stage-coach  would 
pass,  and  had  walked  briskly  off  up  the  road. 

Piece  by  piece  it  fitted  together  like  the  oddly 


A  LINK  IN  THE  CHAIN       231 

shaped  bits  of  a  puzzle-picture,  that  at  first  ap- 
pears insolvable.  The  old  woman  who  had  called 
soon  after  Irma's  departure  had  brought  with  her 
a  missing  section  and  it  fitted. 

"  Why  had  Irma  been  so  eager  to  leave?  "  had 
been  Sylvia's  question,  asked  again  and  again;  and 
Dorcas  Dale  had  answered:  "To  see  the  El- 
more  place,  and  if  possible,  its  owner."  It  was 
clear  now:  the  jottings  had  piqued  Irma's  curi- 
osity, and  she  had  been  determined  to  see  the  per- 
son of  whom  Sylvia  had  written  and  to  know  how 
great  prosperity  his  residence  would  proclaim. 

The  garden,  with  its  riot  of  bloom,  was  a 
pleasant  place  at  early  morning.  The  blossoms, 
fresh  with  dew,  gave  out  a  more  intoxicating  fra- 
grance than  when  the  sun  of  noonday  had  scorched 
them.  It  was  yet  a  long  time  before  the  sun 
would  rise  high  enough  to  peep  over  the  tall  for- 
est trees  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road. 

The  sparrows  on  the  walk  close  by  the  porch 
were  squabbling  over  their  breakfast  of  bread- 
crumbs that  Sylvia  had  scattered,  each  afraid  that 
the  other  would  acquire  more  than  his  share. 
Near  the  tall  red  balm,  an  earthen  basin  sunk  to 
the  level  of  the  garden  bed  was  filled  with  fresh 
water,  and  hither  came  the  birds  to  drink.  Upon 
its  rim  perched  a  wee  brown  sparrow,  alternately 


232         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

dipping  for  a  drink,  and  then  raising  his  head  as 
if  giving  thanks  for  so  great  a  blessing. 

Peaceful  it  surely  was;  yet  even  as  the  light 
breeze  set  the  flowers  swaying,  came  a  vague  sen- 
sation of  uneasiness,  united  with  the  knowledge 
that  Irma  had,  without  doubt,  obtained  Elmore's 
name  from  the  page  of  the  little  book.  And  now 
another  thought  came  to  torment  her:  "  If  it 
were  true  that  the  girl  had  been  so  base  as  to  read 
extracts  from  the  diary  of  another,  what  other 
scribbled  lines  were  there  that  might  have  proved 
interesting?  " 

The  hand  holding  the  red-covered  book  clasped 
it  tighter. 

'  Why  did  I  drop  it  in  the  grass?  "  Sylvia  mur- 
mured. "  And  having  dropped  it,  why  need  I 
have  forgotten  it,  and  so  left  it  within  easy  reach 
of  any  one  who  would  stoop  to  read  it?  " 

She  opened  it  at  random. 

"Oh,  Jack,  Jack!     I  want  you!" 

Could  Irma  have  read  that,  too?  It  was  im- 
possible to  know,  and  the  doubt  was  harassing. 

She  must  get  away  from  herself  —  from  the 
garden  where  the  little,  mischief-making  book  had 
lain  —  from  the  house —  yes,  even  from  Aunt 
Zilla,  who,  kind  though  she  was,  had  a  way  of 
closely  questioning,  usually  at  the  time  of  all  times 


A  LINK  IN  THE  CHAIN       233 

when  one  felt  least  able  to  endure  it.  She  re- 
turned to  the  house,  and  taking  a  parasol  from 
the  corner  of  the  hall  where  she  had  left  it,  called: 
"  Aunt  Zilla,  I'm  going  out  for  a  walk." 

The  door  into  the  hall  opened,  and  a  head 
looked  out,  its  eyes  showing  extreme  surprise. 

"  Out  fer  a  walk  now?  Why,  Sylvia,  I  sh'd 
think  ye  was  crazy." 

"  I'm  not,  but  I  am  going  for  a  walk." 

"  So  ye  said,  but  fer  goodness'  sake,  wait  f'r  a 
bit  o'  breakfast." 

"  I  don't  want  it,"  the  girl  said. 

"  Anything  happened?  "  was  the  next  question 
in  a  voice  that  betokened  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  I  simply  am  not  hungry,  and  I  think  a 
brisk  walk  will  do  me  good." 

Sylvia  ran  through  the  hall,  and  down  the  steps, 
along  the  path,  and  out  through  the  gateway. 

She  felt  that  she  could  bear  questioning  more 
patiently  after  an  hour  or  two  away  from  "  The 
Three  Birches." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  RUNAWAY 

OFTEN  on  her  way  to  the  village,  or  on 
her  return,  Sylvia  had  been  glad  to  accept 
a  cordial  invitation  to  rest  and  listen  to 
the  gentle  voice  of  Ezra  Wiley  as  he  told  tales  of 
his  varied  experience  on  land  and  sea.  He  was  a 
kindly  old  fellow,  and  so  well  did  he  describe 
events  in  which  he  had  taken  an  active  part  or 
happenings  where  he  had  been  an  eager  spectator, 
that  his  auditor,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  wont 
to  call  for  other  tales,  well  knowing  that  they 
would  be  of  equal  interest  and  charm.  He  pos- 
sessed a  mind  that  was  receptive  and  sensitive  to 
impressions,  and  thus  he  read  the  moods  of  his 
visitor  and  always  told  the  sort  of  story  that  would 
fit  the  mood. 

Ezra  dearly  loved  to  cheer  a  friend  or  neighbor 
who,  for  the  time,  seemed  a  bit  "  out  of  tune," 
and  for  the  one  who  grieved,  his  sympathy  was 
boundless.  Tenderly  he  set  about  the  task  of 
comforting,  and  so  gentle  were  his  words,  so  great 

234 


A  RUNAWAY  235 

his  tact,  that  always  his  friend  responded :  "  Oh, 
Ezry,  ye're  a  blessin',"  to  which  he  would  reply : 
"  I  mean  ter  be,  dear  heart,  I  mean  ter  be. 
Whenever  ye're  vexed  come  tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  I'm  afeared  we'll  wear  ye  out,  Ezry,  ye  old 
angel,"  remarked  a  woman  whose  cares  were 
many,  and  who  often  came  to  him  for  counsel  and 
comfort. 

"  No,  no,  Mandy,  come  as  often  as  ye  like. 
My  shoulders  ain't  very  broad,  but  they  do  bear 
burdens  jest  amazin',  an'  when  ye  go  away,  an' 
I  feel  I've  comforted  ye,  seems  'most  as  if  I'd 
wings." 

As  he  spoke  he  pressed  something  into  her  hand. 

"  Oh  no,  Ezry,"  the  woman  cried,  "  yer  kind 
words  was  'nough." 

"  There,  there,  Mandy,  'tain't  much,  but  ef  it 
helps  a  leetle,  I'll  be  glad." 

Sylvia  had  never  told  him  why  she  had  come  to 
the  old  house,  never  had  complained  of  the  dull 
life  at  Blossomville.  He  had  known  that  she 
was  timid  there,  and  he  had  assured  her  that  they 
were  too  far  from  the  city  to  be  alluring  to  tramps. 
On  one  occasion  she  had  told  him  of  the 
"  prophet,"  and  he  had  convinced  her  that  he  was 
absolutely  harmless.  There  were  times  when  he 
dug  for  hidden  treasure,  that  he  was  liable  to  be- 


236        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

lieve  that  he  had  located  on  whatever  bit  of  land 
he  chanced  to  be  standing.  So  long  as  he  did  not 
commence  to  dig  on  land  that  had  been  planted  the 
owner  of  the  land  usually  allowed  him  to  dig,  be- 
cause while  thus  engaged,  he  rarely  was  taken  with 
a  mania  for  prophesying. 

"  Oh,  let  him  dig,"  said  one  old  farmer,  upon 
whose  land  he  had  started  to  work  with  pick  and 
shovel.  "  I'd  'nough  ruther  he'd  dig  than  talk." 

On  this  especial  morning,  Sylvia  had  set  out  for 
the  Wiley  farm,  with  no  other  errand  or  purpose 
than  a  longing  to  elude  Aunt  Zilla's  close  question- 
ing, and  to  be,  for  a  time,  with  the  only  person 
whom  she  had  met  in  Blossomville  who  evinced 
no  curiosity  regarding  herself,  or  her  business. 
"  I've  always  made  this  a  halfway  house,"  she 
thought,  "  but  this  morning,  if  only  I  can  sit  with 
some  one  who  will  talk  to  me,  and  not  question 
me,  or  tell  me  that  I  look  tired,  or  worried,  or,  — " 

"  Good-morning.  I'm  glad  ter  see  ye,  Miss 
Sylvia.  Come  right  in  and  sit  here  by  the  holly- 
hocks, for  I  b'lieve  ye  like  that  place." 

It  was  Ezra  himself  who  had  thus  interrupted 
her  chain  of  restless  thought. 

"  Coin'  on  ter  the  store  later?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  I'm  a  runaway,"  she  said,  "  and  I've  come 


A  RUNAWAY  237 

here  because  it  is  different,  so  different  from  '  The 
Three  Birches.'  ' 

'  That's     right,"     was     the     cheery     answer. 
'  That's  right.     We  all  need  a  change  oncet  in 
a  while  ter  prevent  gettin'  ter  be  jest  the  shape  er 
the  rut  we're  livin'  in." 

He  saw  the  burning  spot  in  each  cheek,  and 
knew  that  something  especially  annoying  had 
prompted  her  to  "  run  away,"  but  with  his  ready 
tact,  he  seemed  not  to  have  noticed  anything  un- 
usual in  her  appearance,  or  manner,  and  taking 
a  seat  near  her,  began  to  tell  her  of  a  new  flower- 
ing plant  that  he  was  raising,  and  of  his  delight 
that  it  was  already  budding. 

She  smiled,  and  tried  to  express  an  interest  in 
his  fad  for  raising  beautiful  flowering  plants,  but 
already  she  had  forgotten  the  name  of  the  variety 
that  he  had  mentioned,  and  she  knew  that  he  real- 
ized that  her  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

''  I  am  half-distracted  over  a  matter  that,  doubt- 
less, I  am  foolish  to  worry  over,"  she  said,  as  if 
in  explanation,  or  apology,  "  and  try  as  I  will,  I 
cannot  get  it  off  my  mind." 

"  Older  folks  than  you  gits  clean  wore  out, 
aworryin'  over  leetle  things  as  wasn't  worth  fret- 
tin'  over  ter  begin  with.  There  was  Jim  Jimson 
an'  his  wife,  —  poorer  'n  Job's  turkey  'n'  with  a 


238         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

fam'ly  that  jest  filled  the  cottage  chuck  full. 
When  their  last  baby  was  born,  'twas  a  gal,  'n'  all 
the  rest  had  been  boys.  Fust  they  worried  be- 
cause of  the  addition  ter  the  fam'ly,  that  I  mus' 
say,  didn't  seem  actooally  nec'sary,  'n'  then  they 
got  clean  tuckered  out,  tryin'  ter  decide  whether 
ter  name  her  Trypheny,  er  Tryphosy.  When 
I  said :  '  Per  massy  sakes,  call  her  Mary  Ann,  an' 
be  done  with  it,'  they  both  thought  I  was  reel 
unfeelin'." 

Sylvia  laughed,  and  Ezra  was  delighted.  He 
believed  that  that  which  had  sent  the  girl  running 
up  the  road,  and  in  at  his  open  gate,  was  nothing 
more  serious  than  a  tiff,  caused  by  difference  of 
opinion  between  Aunt  Zilla  and  herself. 

Ezra  thought  of  another  incident:  "  I  never'll 
fergit  the  time  they  sent  Jim's  tax  bill  by  mail. 
Most  times  they'd  jest  handed  it  ter  him  when  they 
see  him  passin'.  His  oldest  boy  got  it,  this  time 
I  speak  of,  an'  when  he  got  home,  he  says,  says 
he :  *  What's  in  that  'ere  onwalope,  Pa  ?  '  *  Tax 
bill  I  got  ter  pay,  darn  it,'  says  Jim.  '  What  made 
'em  say :  "  Jim  Jimson,  askew,"  on  the  onwalope  ?  ' 
says  the  boy.  Jim  had  tore  it  open  'thout  lookin' 
at  the  way  'twas  'dressed.  When  he  looked  at  it, 
he  turned  redder'n  a  biled  lobster,  'n'  chuckled  the 
bill  under  the  stove.  '  Drat  their  imperdence !  ' 


A  RUNAWAY  239 

says  he.  '  I'm  as  straight  as  a  string  ef  my  tax 
bills  is  overdue.  Jim  Jimson,  askew!  I'm  as 
straight  a  cit'zen  as  any  er  they  be.  Drat  'em,  I 
say,  the  hull  batch  er  them  fellers  what  sends  out 
the  tax  bills.  Jim  Jimson,  askew!  Ef  a  feller 
can't  pay  all  his  bills  to  oncet,  an'  the  fust  minute 
they're  due,  there  ain't  no  call  fer  them  ter  go 
'n'  tell  the  hull  town  of  it  on  the  outside  er  the  on- 
walopes!  ' 

Ezry  laughed  at  the  memory  of  Jimson's  wrath, 
and  Sylvia  laughed  with  him,  but  it  was  not  the 
light  rippling  music  that  he  loved  to  hear.  Rather 
it  sounded  as  if  she  were  amused  by  the  anecdote, 
but  that  its  drollery  could  not  banish  that  which 
had  sent  her  out  for  an  early  morning  call. 

"  I  want  ye  ter  know  Aunt  Phyllis,"  Ezra  said 
quietly,  then:  "Now,  don't  ye  look  disturbed, 
fer  when  ye  see  her,  ye  won't  think  ye're  talkin' 
ter  a  stranger.  Ye'll  feel  's  if  ye'd  known  her 
ever  since  ye  was  a  leetle  gal,  she's  so  homelike, 
an'  so  gentle." 

Sylvia  felt  like  begging  a  delay  of  the  meeting, 
until  another  time  when  she  might  be  in  a  more 
cheerful  mood,  but  she  did  not.  Ezra's  desire  to 
cheer  her  was  so  evident,  so  sincere,  that  she 
yielded. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  something  'bout  her,  an'  then  we'll 


24o         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

go  in.  Ye  see,  she  ain't  really  a  relation,  but  we 
like  ter  think  she  is.  She's  a  widder,  an'  she 
wa'n't  well  fixed,  so  me'n  Temp'rance  asked  her 
ter  make  her  home  with  us,  an'  I  will  say  she's  a 
blessin'  when  she's  busy,  an'  a  ben'diction  when 
she's  settin'  still.  I  declare,  ef  I  feel  fidgity,  I  go 
an'  take  a  look  at  Phyllis,  an'  'mejitly  I  feel  calm. 
'Tis  so,  fer  a  fact." 

Aunt  Phyllis  sat  in  a  vine-covered  arbor  at  the 
rear  of  the  house,  and  the  sunlight  filtering  through 
the  leaves  touched  her  white  hair,  making  her 
fair,  like  a  sweet-faced  saint  with  a  shining  halo. 
She  looked  up  as  they  entered,  and  laid  down  her 
knitting. 

'  What  a  pleasant  face,"  thought  Sylvia. 

u  What  a  beautiful  girl,"  thought  the  little 
woman. 

Ezra,  after  presenting  Sylvia,  and  waiting  for  a 

moment  to  enjoy  seeing  them  talking  together, 

made  a  gauzy  excuse  regarding  an   errand  for 

1  Temp'rance,"  and  walked  across  the  lawn  to 

the  house. 

'  They'll  get  better  'quainted  all  by  theirselves," 
he  muttered,  "  an'  I  do  actooally  b'lieve  they's 
somethin'  happened  that  has  stirred  the  gal  so 
she's  not  happy.  I  see  it  in  her  eyes,  but 
'twouldn't  never  do  ter  ask  her  what  'twas. 


A  RUNAWAY  241 

Mebbe  Phyllis  will  know  how  ter  git  at  it."     And 
Phyllis  did. 

Sylvia  Durant  was  not  the  sort  of  girl  who 
would  tell  her  private  troubles  to  a  stranger,  but 
Aunt  Phyllis  seemed  like  one  whom  she  had  long 
known,  and  when  she  said:  "  Come,  sit  here  on 
this  little  stool  beside  me.  I  want  to  know  ye, 
dear,"  Sylvia,  without  a  second's  hesitation  seated 
herself  on  the  low  stool,  and  leaned  an  arm  upon 
Aunt  Phyllis's  knee  as  she  sat,  listening  to  the 
sweet  voice  that  was  telling  how  deeply  she  en- 
joyed the  bird  songs,  and  the  blossom-scented  air 
of  early  morning. 

Sylvia,  looking  up  into  the  pleasant  face,  with 
its  blue  eyes  expressive  of  absolute  peace  and  con- 
tent, wondered  if  this  were  a  woman  whom  care 
had  never  cumbered,  whom  sorrow  had  never 
touched.  No,  she  was  a  little  widow,  so  she  had 
loved  and  lost,  but  she  had  at  least  known  the 
joy  of  life  with  the  one  whom  she  loved,  before 
fate  or  death  had  parted  them. 

"  Jack  and  I  are  parted,  and  oh,  I  know,  no, 
I  hope,  — " 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  Aunt  Phyllis  laid 
a  gentle  hand  upon  her  shoulder. 

"What  is  it,  dearie?"  she  asked.  "Is  it  so 
lonely  at  *  The  Three  Birches?  '  " 


242        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Sylvia  looked  up  into  the  kindly  eyes. 

"  Tell  me  how  it  is  you  have  lived  so  many 
years  more  than  I  have,  and  yet  look  so  peaceful, 
so  happy,"  she  said  wistfully,  as  if  she  would 
learn  the  secret. 

She  was  not  sure  that  she  could  talk  of  her  lone- 
liness in  the  big  old  house,  without  tears,  and  she 
was  not  one  to  show  weakness  before  even  her 
most  intimate  friends. 

Aunt  Phyllis  radiated  peace  and  good  cheer, 
thus  the  question  that  filled  Sylvia's  mind. 

"  Will  ye  listen  whilst  I  tell  ye  a  tale  o'  things 
that  happened  long  ago?  " 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  Sylvia  said,  feeling  a  sense  of 
relief  at  the  prospect  of  hearing  a  story  of  an- 
other's experiences,  instead  of  dwelling  upon  her 
own. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

"  AULD   LANG   SYNE  " 

IN  a  low  voice,  Aunt  Phyllis  began: 
"  At  home  with  my  father,  an'  mother,  an' 
brother  Nate,  I  had  b'lieved  I  was  happy  — 
yes,  very  happy,  an'  so  I  was,  but  when  my  Jack 
came  into  my  life  " — 

She  paused  an  instant,  surprised  by  the  sudden 
tightening  of  the  girl's  clasped  hands  upon  her 
knee;  then,  as  if  she  had  paused  only  to  take  a 
longer  breath,  she  continued :  "  Jack  an'  I  had 
been  sweethearts  for  almost  a  year,  an'  we  wanted 
to  marry  an'  have  a  little  home  of  our  own,  but, 
dearie,  there  was  two  drawbacks,  an'  they  was 
'bout  all  'twas  needed  ter  prevent  one  marryin'  fer 
some  time.  One  was  that  father  said  I  was  too 
young  ter  marry  yet  awhile,  an'  the  other  was  that 
Jack  hadn't  'nough  money  ter  go  ter  housekeepin', 
an'  I  hadn't  any  ter  help  with. 

"  We  talked  the  matter  over,  my  Jack  an'  me, 
talked  until  'twas  threadbare,  an'  then  one  day, 

243 


244        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Jack  come  an'  told  me  he  was  goin'  ter  sea.  He 
said  he  wasn't  makin'  headway  on  land,  and  he 
wasn't  willin'  ter  wait  f'rever,  nor  keep  me  waitin'. 
He  said  a  number  er  fellows  that  he  knew  was 
goin',  an'  he'd  signed  with  ol'  Cap'n  Pritchard. 
That  was  Sat'day,  an'  he  was  ter  sail  Monday. 

"  Dearie,  I  clung  ter  him,  cryin'  an'  beggin'  him 
ter  give  it  up.  I  told  him  I'd  rather  wait  ten,  yes 
twenty,  years  fer  him,  than  ter  hev  him  go  ter  sea 
an'  git  drownded,  an'  he  tried  ter  comfort  me,  an' 
laugh  away  my  fears.  Sunday  I  had  ter  go  ter 
church,  for  in  them  days  'twas  thought  ter  be  a 
sin  ter  miss  a  single  service. 

"  My  eyes  were  red  with  cryin',  so  I  walked 
with  my  head  bowed  all  the  way  ter  church,  an' 
looked  down  in  my  lap  when  I  sat  in  the  pew.  I 
didn't  understand  a  word  er  the  sermon,  fer  over 
an'  over  in  my  mind  went  this  one  thing : 

"  'Jack's  goin'  ter  sea.     How  can  I  bear  it?  ' 

"  Brother  Nate  done  what  I  never  knew  him 
ter  do  before.  He  reached  fer  my  hand,  an'  held 
it,  like  he  meant  me  ter  know  he  understood,  and 
was  sympathizin'  with  me.  Monday  come,  an' 
half  the  gals  I  knew  were  racin'  down  the  street, 
their  sweethearts  with  them,  an'  the  whole  crowd 
laughin'  an'  jokin'  as  if  they  had  gone  wild  with 
the  fun  of  a  gay  holiday. 


"AULD  LANG  SYNE"  245 

"Holiday!  It  seemed  like  anything  but  that 
ter  me. 

"  Only  sort  er  dim  I  remember  standin'  on  the 
wharf  with  Jack's  arm  around  me,  an'  him  tryin' 
ter  tell  me  how  he'd  surely  get  money,  an'  we'd 
be  married  as  soon  as  he  come  home. 

"  Nate  stood  jest  far  'nough  'way  ter  let  us  hev 
those  last  words  together.  The  next  thing  I  re- 
member that  Jack  had  gone,  that  Brother  Nate 
was  standin'  close  beside  me,  an'  that  the  other 
gals  was  sayin'  ter  me:  '  Cheer,  Phyllis,  cheer!  ' 
just  as  she  was  'bout  ter  start. 

"  {  Cheer! '  My  voice  had  gone  somewheres, 
an'  in  its  place  there  was  somethin'  big  in  my 
throat  that  prevented  a  sound  comin'  out. 

"'Cheer!'  Why  I'd  no  thought  er  the  fine 
ship  er  settin'  out  fer  her  fust  voyage,  er  Cap'n 
Pritchard,  er  the  gold  that  my  Jack  had  swore 
he'd  bring  back  ter  me.  All  I  knew  was  that 
my  Jack  was  goin'  away;  was  gone! 

"  With  starin'  eyes,  an'  feelin'  cold  from  head 
ter  foot,  I  stood  watchin'  'til  the  vessel  dis'peared 
in  the  heavy  fog  that  hung  over  the  sea.  Then  I 
remember,  my  brother  took  me  by  the  hand,  an' 
he  said: 

"  '  Come,  Phyllis,  it's  no  use  watchin'  any 
longer,'  an'  I  turned  my  back  toward  the  wind  an' 


246        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

wave  that  was  takin'  Jack  from  me,  an'  as  if  half 
awake,  an'  in  some  kind  o'  troubled  dream,  I 
walked  'long  side  er  Nate  toward  home.  Brother 
Nate  wa'n't  much  of  er  talker,  never  seemin'  ter 
hev  much  ter  say,  but  he  kep'  close  beside  me,  an' 
managed  so  I  got  home  'thout  bein'  worried  by  the 
crowd  er  laughin'  gals  that  had  been  down  ter  the 
wharf  jest  fer  sport.  The  other  lads  that  had 
sailed  away,  was  only  friends,  not  sweethearts 
pledged  ter  marry,  an'  they'd  laughed  gaily  when 
they  went  off,  promisin'  ter  bring  back  gifts  er 
coral  an'  shells." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  Sylvia  asked  softly : 
"Did  he  return  safely  from  that  trip?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  an'  remained  home  a  while,  an'  we 
were  married.  Twice  after  we  were  married  he 
went  ter  sea,  and  from  the  second  trip  he  never 
come  back.  He  was  taken  sick,  dearie,  an'  then 
—  they  buried  him  at  sea." 

Then  Sylvia  turned  and  hid  her  face  on  Aunt 
Phyllis'  knee.  She  was  softly  weeping,  and  a 
gentle  hand  smoothed  the  bright  ripples  in  her 
hair,  as  she  murmured:  "There,  there,  dearie; 
there,  there.  Maybe  the  tears  will  relieve  ye  a 
bit.  I  chose  the  wrong  kind  o'  tale,  dearie.  For- 
give me,  child.  I  should  er  chose  one  that  might 
cheer,  but  ye  asked  about  my  long  life,  an'  me  still 


"AULD  LANG  SYNE"          247 

lookin'  cheerful,  an'  I  thought  ye  b'lieved  I'd  al- 
ways been  care  free." 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  "  came  the  half-smothered  words 
from  Sylvia,  her  face  still  hidden.  "  It  was  just 
the  kind  of  tale  I  needed.  I'd  been  thinking  that 
no  girl  was  ever  so  unhappy  as  I  —  that  no  one 
had  ever  suffered  so,  and  I  was  foolish  to  think 
it.  I  never  thought  I'd  tell  my  own  affairs  to 
any  one  save  the  aunt  who  lives  with  me  at  '  The 
Three  Birches,'  but  now  I  thank  you  so  for  telling 
me  your  own  story,  and,  because  I  know  you'll 
keep  it,  I  want  to  tell  you  mine : 

"  Aunt  Zilla  Bond  was  the  only  person  I  could 
think  of  who  would  be  at  all  likely  to  be  willing 
to  come  here  with  me.  She  has  lived  all  her  life 
in  the  country,  and  for  that  reason,  would  be  less 
impatient  of  the  dull  life  here  than  would  a  woman 
who  was  city  bred,  but  the  old  house  is  gloomy, 
and  sometimes  I  have  found  it  a  hard  task  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  I  dared  not  discourage  Aunt  Zilla, 
but  alone  in  my  own  room  at  night,  it  was  different, 
and  more  than  once  I've  been  weak  enough  to  cry 
myself  to  sleep." 

"  Poor  child !  Poor  child !  "  Aunt  Phyllis  said 
softly.  "  Tell  me  all  'bout  the  things  that  try  ye, 
an'  not  a  soul,  not  even  dear,  good  Ezry,  will  git  a 
word  of  it.  Mebbe  it'll  ease  yer  heart  ter  tell  it, 


248         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

an'  it  may  look  some  different,  after  we  talk  it 
over." 

Her  arm  was  around  the  girl's  shoulders,  and 
Sylvia  felt  as  if  kindness  and  sympathy  were  just 
at  that  moment  a  shield  outspread  to  protect  her, 
to  save  her  from  herself. 

Irma's  visit  had  been  the  last  straw,  and  since 
that  day,  Sylvia  had  found  it  well-nigh  impossible 
to  shake  off  a  sense  of  depression. 

In  vain  she  had  told  herself  that  Jack's  love 
would  hold  firm  and  true  in  spite  of  separation; 
that  when  he  knew  that  the  prize  that  she  had  en- 
dured so  much  to  win  was  so  well  worth  attaining, 
he  would  understand  all  and  forgive  all. 

In  vain  she  had  tried  to  banish  from  her  mind 
all  thought  of  Irma's  visit,  of  the  things  that  she 
had  said,  and  of  the  singular  fact  of  her  curiosity 
regarding  the  name  of  Elmore.  These  things, 
together  with  something  strange  in  Irma's  man- 
ner, recurred  to  her  with  startling  distinctness, 
and  day  by  day  she  found  herself  recalling  inci- 
dents of  that  visit  until,  at  last,  she  had  run  away 
to  the  Wiley  farm,  for  a  few  hours,  at  least,  to 
leave  the  gloom  of  the  old  Durant  house  behind 
her. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  vine-covered  arbor,  where 
no  curious  one  could  possibly  be  listening,  Sylvia 


"AULD  LANG  SYNE"  249 

told  of  the  arrival  at  "  The  Three  Birches,"  and 
of  the  life  there,  of  the  reason  for  remaining  a 
year  and  a  day,  of  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Daphne  Van 
Horn,  of  the  gay  life  enjoyed  at  her  home  for 
which  she  had  exchanged  the  dull  existence  at  the 
Durant  house,  of  Jack  —  oh,  how  tenderly,  faith- 
fully she  described  Jack! 

All  these  things  she  laid  before  Aunt  Phyllis, 
who  listened  with  deep  interest  and  concern. 

14 1  know  ye're  right,  dearie,"  she  said,  "  an' 
brave  ye  are  ter  be  bound  ter  win  the  legacy  fer 
Jack  an'  yerself,  but  why  not  let  him  share  the 
secret,  as  well  as  me  ?  Poor  boy,  he's  in  the  dark, 
an'  may  be  thinkin'  ye  find  it  easy  ter  git  on  with- 
out him." 

"  Oh,  but  you  don't  know  Jack,"  cried  Sylvia. 
"  He  is  with  his  uncle  who  is  a  banker.  The 
uncle  gave  him  the  position  rather  grudgingly,  be- 
cause he  had  been  estranged  from  his  brother  for 
years,  and  that  brother  was  Jack's  father.  Jack 
has  been,  from  the  first,  determined  to  make  good, 
and,  gradually,  he  is  working  his  way  up.  There 
are  two  reasons  for  not  telling  him  the  magnitude 
of  the  prize  I  am  determined  to  win.  Jack  would 
use  every  argument  that  he  could  think  of  to  dis- 
suade me  from  my  resolve  to  win  the  legacy,  and 
one  plea  he  would  surely  make :  that  I  would  un- 


250        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

dermine  my  health  and  weaken  my  nerves  remain- 
ing here  at  the  old  house. 

"  That  may  be  so,  but  I  am  well  and  strong, 
and,  for  some  reason  that  I  can  not  explain,  I  be- 
lieve that  I  shall  win  out.  Another  reason  is  that 
my  Aunt  Daphne,  Mrs.  Van  Horn,  declared  that 
Jack  Stanwood  wooed  me  because  he  believed  me 
to  be  sole  heiress  to  the  Van  Horn  millions.  Jack 
proved  that  to  be  false  by  urging  me  to  marry  him 
at  once,  since  I  had  lost  Aunt  Daphne's  favor,  and 
live  happily,  in  a  small  way  until  his  salary  was 
large  enough  to  provide  greater  comfort.  When 
I  told  Aunt  Daphne,  she  sneered  and  told  me  that 
as  I  had  been  reared  and  trained  for  a  different 
life,  I  should  be  dead  weight,  a  veritable  mill-stone 
around  the  neck  of  a  poor  man.  I  knew  that  what 
she  said  was  true.  What  could  I  do  that  would 
give  me  the  right  to  the  name  of  '  help-mate  '  ?  I 
could  not  cook,  I  could  not  sew,  nor  had  I  any  ac- 
complishment worth  mentioning.  I  could  play 
and  sing  well  enough  to  please  a  not  overexacting 
audience,  but  not  nearly  well  enough  to  attempt 
to  teach.  Really,  Aunt  Daphne  was  right  in  that, 
but  entirely  wrong  in  endeavoring  to  marry  me  to 
a  wealthy  man  whom  I  abhorred. 

u  If  Jack  and  I  are  ever  one  — " 


"AULD  LANG  SYNE"  251 

"  You  will  be,  dearie.  I'm  sure  of  that,"  Aunt 
Phyllis  said  quickly. 

"  I  know  Aunt  Daphne  would  like  to  say  that 
the  legacy  made  Jack  hold  true,  but  she  shall  not. 
That  is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  me  from  telling 
Jack  what  great  prosperity  I  shall  bring  to  him. 
He  loved  me  when  he  thought  me  penniless,  and 
when  we  are  reunited  I  shall  know  the  joy  of  tell- 
ing Aunt  Daphne  that  Jack  believed  that  the  old 
house  was  all  that  I  was  to  inherit;  that  he  wanted 
me  for  myself." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

OVER   THE    WALL 

A  SKY  blue  and  cloudless,  coming  to  a  softer 
tint  where  the  purple  hills  touched  it,  a 
stretch  of  land  as  green  as  in  the  early 
summer;  and  on  the  right,  as  one  looked  toward 
the  horizon,  a  grove  of  maples,  their  foliage  tak- 
ing on  the  tints  that  only  autumn  paints. 

Above  the  trees  peeped  the  red-roofed  turrets 
of  the  new  club-house,  of  which  every  member  was 
justly  proud. 

Skilled  player  and  novice  were  alike  fond  of 
entertaining  their  friends  there,  first  showing 
them  the  club  house,  dining  with  them,  and  then 
tramping  over  the  links. 

One  thing  was  an  annoyance,  an  eyesore  to 
every  member  of  the  club.  It  formed  a  blot  on 
an  otherwise  perfect  picture,  and  that  was  a  little 
old  cottage,  shabby,  and  weather-beaten. 

The  long  narrow  strip  of  land  upon  which  it 
stood  bordered  the  links  upon  one  side,  and  the 
fine  stone  wall  that  the  club  had  built  along  that 
boundary  gave  added  beauty  to  its  property,  but 

252 


OVER  THE  WALL  253 

that  wall  running  close  to  the  cottage  could  not 
hide  it;  and  saucily  its  gable  end  peeped  over,  as 
if  laughing  in  the  faces  of  those  who  wished  it  de- 
molished. 

Its  owner,  Mrs.  Mehitable  Renshaw,  "  Widder 
an'  taxpayer,"  as  she  proudly  described  herself, 
was  not  disposed  to  sell.  Again  and  again  enthus- 
iastic members  had  called  upon  her  and  endeav- 
ored to  persuade  her  to  dispose  of  her  property, 
but  large  offers  and  small  were  alike  u  turned 
down." 

"  Why  sh'd  I  sell  ?  "  she  would  ask.  "  I'm  con- 
tent ter  stay  here  where  I  be.  It  don't  make  no 
odds  ter  me  that  the  hull  crowd  er  ye  want  me  ter 
git  out.  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  stir,  so  that's  all  there 
is  ter  it." 

Man  after  man  had  shouted  himself  hoarse  in 
endeavoring  to  convince  her  that  by  her  obstinacy 
she  was  depriving  herself  of  money  that  she  might 
have;  that  it  was  her  duty  to  "sell  out."  To 
each  and  all  she  made  the  same  reply :  "  I'm  con- 
tent ter  live  here,  an'  I'm  goin'  ter.  Ef  ye  don't 
like  the  looks  er  my  house,  that's  nothin'  ter  me. 
Ef  it  comes  ter  that,  I  don't  admire  yer  men  a 
chasin'  leetle  balls  all  over  creation,  hittin'  at  'em. 
with  things  that  look  like  the  meanest  kind  of 
hockeys  an'  most  ginirally  hittin'  nothin'  but  air. 


254        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

I'm  sure  I  ain't  yet  decided  which  of  ye  looks  the 
wust  in  yer  plaid  stockin's;  the  short  fat  men  that's 
shaped  like  beer-kegs  on  legs,  er  yer  skinny  bean- 
pole men  that  are  'bout  the  style  er  storks.  Both 
kinds  is  a  tur'ble  funny  sight,  but  I  don't  ask  ye  ter 
desist  f'm  playin'  yer  silly  game  ef  ye  like  it;  'n 
fact  I  sometimes  enjoy  watchin'  the  fool  game,  fer 
yer  antics  is  as  funny  as  any  comic  pictures,  so  I 
watch  yer,  an'  save  the  price  er  the  papers  with 
the  funny  colored  pages." 

Close  to  the  wall  near  the  cottage  a  number  of 
scrub-oaks  had  been  cut  down,  but  from  their  roots 
had  sprung  young  shoots  that  had  been  freshly 
green  all  summer  and  now  wore  the  gayest  tints 
of  red  and  russet.  They  had  grown  rapidly,  and 
they  were  well  above  the  wall  like  gaudy  shrubs, 
their  bright  leaves  flaunting  in  the  sunlight,  as  if 
the  heart  of  the  tree,  still  living,  gloried  that  the 
axe  had  not  entirely  vanquished  it. 

Mrs.  Mehitable  Renshaw,  very  deaf,  and  like 
many,  thus  afflicted,  desperately  suspicious,  had 
tried  in  vain  to  discover  the  reason  for  the  sud- 
den invasion  of  her  premises  by  Irma  Delwin. 
Horatio  Delwin  she  had  known  years  ago,  but 
that  was  before  he  had  married,  and  was  still 
struggling  bravely  to  make  his  way  in  the  world. 
She  could  not  have  told  if  he  were  third,  fourth 


OVER  THE  WALL  255 

or  fifth  cousin,  and  she  felt  no  interest  as  to  just 
what  the  relationship  might  be.  Irma  was  the 
fruit  of  the  first  marriage,  and  when  she  was 
little,  he  had  married  again.  Of  these  matters 
Mrs.  Renshaw  knew  nothing,  and  upon  Irma's 
arrival  at  the  cottage,  her  introduction  of  herself 
had  fallen  flat. 

'Ye  say  ye're  Horatio  Delwin's  daughter? 
Wai,  what  p'ssessed  ye  ter  call  here?  I  may  as 
well  tell  ye,  I  ain't  goin'  ter  stand  bein'  teased  ter 
sell  any  er  my  old-fashioned  chany,  nor  any  er 
my  old  mahog'ny  tables,  fer  I  want  'em  myself." 

Irma's  temper  was  at  boiling  point,  but  she  gov- 
erned it.  Usually  she  spoke  her  mind,  but  she 
had  come  to  the  cottage  for  an  especial  purpose, 
and  she  was  determined  to  remain.  She  assumed 
a  gentleness  quite  remarkable,  when  one  remem- 
bered that  this  attribute  was  foreign  to  her  nature. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Renshaw,  we've  not  been  as 
friendly  as  we  should  like  to  have  been,  social 
matters  have  so  closely  occupied  us,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  took  a  run  down  here  to  look  you  up, 
and,—" 

"  Not  bein'  much  of  a  sight,  I'm  thinkin'  ye'll 
be  wondering  which  would  be  the  shortest  way  to 
run  back,"  Mrs.  Renshaw  said  sharply. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  Irma  said  quickly,  "  and  you 


256        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

may  know  how  much  I  wanted  to  come,  when  I 
tell  you  that  I've  been  having  a  gay  summer,  and 
I've  left  the  music,  the  dancing,  and  all  the  jollity 
to  come  for  a  few  weeks'  stay  here  at  the  cottage 
with  you." 

A  gasp  of  astonishment,  of  dismay,  came  from 
the  thin  lips  of  Mrs.  Renshaw. 

"  Oh,  I  can  pay  you  enough  to  make  it  worth 
while  for  you  to  let  me  remain,  now  I'm  here," 
Irma  said  sharply. 

She  had  expected  her  arrival  to  be  considered  an 
honor  conferred.  Instead,  it  was  evident  that  the 
woman,  compelled  to  play  hostess,  was  worse  than 
unwilling.  She  was  actually  angry  because  of  the 
invasion. 

"  I  shall  stay!"  thought  Irma. 

"  It'd  cost  me  much  as  two  dollars  a  week  ter 
keep  ye,  an'  I  know  ye  think  me  mean  an'  small 
ter  speak  of  it,  but  I  have  ter,  fer  I  hain't  got  the 
two  dollars.  There!" 

"  I'll  give  you  five  each  week  that  I  am  here  if 
you'll  only  let  me  stay,"  Irma  said. 

It  was  maddening  to  coax,  but  if  she  accom- 
plished all  that  she  had  planned  to  do, —  oh,  that 
would  repay  tenfold  for  all  the  hated  wheedling, 
for  all  the  privation  she  would  endure,  for  the 
dullness,  for  everything. 


OVER  THE  WALL  257 

"  Five  dollars!  "  gasped  Mrs.  Renshaw,  "  See 
here,  'twon't  be  hotel  fare,  fer  I  ain't  no  cook." 

"  I  don't  care  what  food  I  have  if  only  it  is 
neatly  cooked.  All  I  need,  just  now,  is  to  know 
that  I  may  remain  here  for  a  few  weeks." 

"  Hidin'  from  somebody?"  was  the  curious 
question. 

"  Of  course  not.  I'm  tired,  and  need  rest  and 
quiet,"  Irma  said  shortly,  and  removing  her  hat 
and  gloves,  appeared  to  have  settled  the  question 
of  remaining. 

The  three  days  after  Irma's  arrival  at  the  cot- 
tage had  been  stormy,  and  as  she  had  spent  the 
time  in  reading  books  that  she  had  brought  with 
her,  she  had  been  an  exceedingly  uninteresting  per- 
son to  watch.  The  fourth  day  proved  to  be  ideal, 
and  she  announced  that  she  intended  to  spend  it 
out  of  doors. 

"  Sh'd  think  ye  would,  'tho'  it's  dull,  fair 
weather  or  foul  hereabouts.  Nothin'  ter  'muse 
yerself  indoors,  an'  fer  that  matter,  what  is  there 
ter  do  outdoors?  " 

Irma  made  no  reply,  but  a  half  hour  later, 
slipped  out  and  taking  up  her  position  close  be- 
hind the  oak  saplings,  stood  waiting, —  waiting. 

Mrs.  Renshaw  saw  her  from  the  kitchen  win- 
dow, and  immediately  went  softly  up-stairs,  where 


258        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

behind  the  thin  cotton  draperies  at  the  window, 
she  could  have  the  joy  of  watching  without  being 
seen. 

"  Now,  what's  she  up  ter,  I'd  like  ter  know?  " 
she  whispered,  then,  "  She  came  here  fer  some- 
thin',  I'll  be  bound!" 

Nothing  happened,  however,  and  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw  was  disappointed. 

"  Wonder  how  long  she'll  keep  it  up  ?  "  she  mut- 
tered at  twilight. 

Day  after  day  Irma  watched,  moving  forward 
whenever  a  figure  came  in  sight,  and  withdrawing 
when  he  advanced  toward  where  she  was  stand- 
ing. There  was  something  uncanny  in  the  per- 
sistent vigil  like  a  spider  in  its  web,  watching  for 
unwary  prey. 

There  came  a  day  when,  as  she  stood  in  the 
usual  covert,  she  saw  the  one  for  whom  she  had 
been  waiting  —  Jack  Stanwood  —  but  another 
man  was  with  him. 

They  were  not  playing,  and  as  they  tramped 
along,  appeared  to  be  earnestly  talking  of  some- 
thing in  which  both  were  keenly  interested.  They 
passed  close  to  the  wall  behind  which  Irma  was 
standing,  and  although  completely  hidden  by  the 
mass  of  oak  foliage,  her  cheeks  burned  hotly,  as 
if  she  had  been  caught  peeping.  She  was  disap- 


OVER  THE  WALL  259 

pointed  because,  after  persistent  watching,  Jack, 
when  he  appeared,  had  not  been  alone,  but  she  was 
not  discouraged.  Rather,  she  was  more  firmly 
determined  than  ever,  to  carry  out  the  scheme  that 
had  sent  her  to  the  cottage. 

On  days  when  Irma  waited  by  the  wall,  Mrs. 
Renshaw's  household  tasks  were  neglected  because 
when  the  girl  slipped  out  to  her  place  behind  the 
hedge  of  saplings,  her  vigilant  hostess  flew  up- 
stairs, and,  peeping  between  the  cotton  hangings 
watched,  as  from  a  loophole  in  a  tower.  An  hour 
would  pass  —  two,  three. 

"Good  land!  I  wish  somethin'  would  hap- 
pen!" she  would  complain,  and  the  girl  who 
watched,  began  to  feel  much  the  same,  but  she  at 
least  had  a  fixed  purpose,  whereas  Mrs.  Renshaw 
was  simply  waiting  to  gratify  her  curiosity.  She 
dared  not  question  Irma,  but  daily  her  longing  to 
know  what  kept  the  girl  at  her  post  increased. 

It  was  not  courtesy  that  held  her  in  control  and 
hushed  the  questions  that  so  often  rose  to  her  lips. 
It  was  the  fear  that  Irma  would  abruptly  leave 
her  that  caused  her  to  appear  as  if  unaware  of 
anything  unusual. 

Irma  wondered  that  Mrs.  Renshaw  did  not  no- 
tice that  she  spent  long  hours  at  the  wall.  So  long 


260        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

as  the  five  dollars  was  placed  in  her  eager  hand 
each  week,  Mehitable  Renshaw  was  determined 
to  be  blind  as  well  as  deaf  to  any  freak  that  Irma 
might  display. 

It  was  so  unusual  for  her  to  curb  her  curiosity, 
however,  that  the  strain  was  telling  upon  her. 
Fortunately,  the  little  cottage  was  isolated  and  the 
neighbors  too  distant  to  prod  her,  for  that  would 
have  made  the  situation  unbearable. 

At  last  the  chance  came  for  which  Irma  had 
been  waiting.  Several  times  she  had  seen  him, 
as  with  others,  he  had  been  playing,  but  she  knew 
that  it  would  be  wasting  ammunition  to  greet  him 
when  others  were  present.  She  had  not  come  so 
far  to  enjoy  a  brief  chat  with  Jack  Stanwood. 
No,  indeed.  There  surely  would  come  a  better 
opportunity.  She  must  wait. 

And  when  it  came,  it  caught  her  off  her  guard. 
All  the  morning  she  had  watched,  leaving  her 
covert  only  long  enough  for  the  noon  meal. 
After  lunch  she  had  stood  behind  the  wall  until 
weary,  when,  believing  that  he  had  forsaken  the 
club  for  some  other  pleasure,  she  turned,  and  en- 
tered the  house.  Not  willing  to  wholly  give  up 
her  vigil  for  the  day,  she  took  a  book  from  the 
table  and  going  over  to  the  window,  sat  down. 

She  did  not  intend  to  read,  but  the  book  would 


OVER  THE  WALL  261 

act  as  a  blind.  When  Mrs.  Renshaw  appeared, 
she  would  avoid  conversing  with  her  by  seeming 
to  read.  Of  course  Mrs.  Renshaw  immediately 
appeared.  Of  what  use  longer  to  peep  from  an 
upper  window  when  Irma  had  left  the  wall? 

"  Was  ye  chilly  out  there?  " 

'  No,"  Irma  replied,  and  turned  a  page  to  im- 
ply that  her  attention  was  held  by  the  story. 

"  Why  don't  ye  walk  'round  'nstead  o'  standin' 
still?"  ' 

Mrs.  Renshaw's  curiosity  had  reached  the  acute 
stage  where  restraint  was  impossible.  The  girl 
bent  lower  over  her  book,  and  made  no  reply. 

'  Wai,  I  guess  ye  heared,  fer  even  ef  ye're  some 
deef,  ye  ain't  near  as  deef  as  I  be." 

Irma's  lips  parted  for  an  angry  retort,  but,  as 
she  looked  up  from  the  book,  she  saw  a  well- 
known  figure  coming  up  over  the  rising  land  at  the 
far  end  of  the  links.  There  was  no  mistaking  that 
figure.  Who  but  Stanwood  possessed  such  shoul- 
ders, such  lithe  limbs,  so  fine  a  head,  and  above  all 
things,  was  not  that  brave  carriage  his  only?  A 
glance  in  Mrs.  Renshaw's  direction  showed  that, 
for  the  time,  at  least,  she  was  a  fixture.  Irma 
sprang  from  her  chair,  threw  her  book  upon  the 
lounge,  and  ran  out  to  the  wall. 

She  wished  that  Mrs.  Renshaw  had  not  been  sit- 


262         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

ting  right  there,  but  she  could  not  lose  this  long- 
sought  opportunity  for  fear  of  what  a  curious 
old  woman  might  think.  Let  her  think ! 

She  did  think,  and  her  first  idea  was  that  the 
girl  was  vexed  with  her. 

"  She  was  tur'ble  uppish  ter  be  'fended  'cause 
I  axed  a  question.  Good  land!  Can't  a  body 
ax  a  question?  " 

She  rose,  and  moving  toward  the  window, 
looked  out  just  in  time  to  see  a  fine-looking  man 
courteously  helping  Irma  down  on  the  other  side 
of  the  wall. 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?  A  giniwine  'lopement,  an' 
her  so  looney  with  love  't  she's  gone  off  'thout 
her  hat !  Beats  all  how  crazy  a  gal  will  git  over 
a  good-lookin'  feller.  I  never  felt  that  way  to- 
ward Renshaw,  'tho'  mebbe  what  I  done  was  most 
as  foolish  as  'lopin'.  We  went  ter  the  parsonage, 
ter  be  sure,  but  we  married  on  love,  an'  nothin' 
a  month,  so  I  guess  it  goes  with  love  ter  be  pooty 
middlin'  foolish!" 

She  left  the  window  for  the  sole  reason  that 
those  whom  she  had  been  watching  were  out  of 
sight. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

HEARD   ON   THE    LINKS 

AT  the  club,  Stanwood  had  expected  to  meet  a 
friend  whose  company  he  always  enjoyed 
because  when  they  talked,  they  dealt 
frankly  with  the  subject  in  hand,  neither  fearing 
that  the  other  would  take  offense  because  of  a  dif- 
ference of  opinion. 

Sometimes  they  smoked  in  silence,  with  that  per- 
fect understanding  that  made  it  impossible  for  one 
to  think  the  other  moody. 

If  Donald  Trefton  noticed  a  change  in  Jack, 
he  at  least  appeared  unaware  of  it. 

A  change  there  was,  for  Jack  was  not  the  bright 
cheery  companion  of  the  early  spring,  and  Tref- 
ton, true  friend  that  he  was,  worried  much,  but 
said  not  a  word  of  his  anxiety  to  Jack. 

"  All  right,  as  far  as  his  health  is  concerned," 
he  would  say  to  himself,  "  and  getting  on  fa- 
mously with  that  crusty  old  uncle  of  his,  the  rich 
old  cudmudgeon,  but  something  has  put  a  damper 
on  him.  I  believe,  upon  my  soul,  it's  a  woman!  " 

263 


264        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Having  reached  this  conclusion,  he  would  give 
vent  to  a  prolonged  whistle,  and  then :  "  I  sol- 
emnly declare  my  intention  of  remaining  a  bache- 
lor!" 

Jack,  when  he  had  reached  the  club,  had  gone 
straight  to  the  smoking-room;  but,  for  some  rea- 
son, Trefton  was  not  there. 

"Hello!  What's  up?"  cried  one  of  a  group 
of  his  friends. 

"  Looks  as  if  the  devil  was  to  pay,"  remarked 
another. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  Jack  replied  a  bit  sharply,  "  but 
I  expected  to  meet  Trefton  here.  Any  one  seen 
him?" 

"  Hasn't  arrived  yet.  Why  not  put  up  a  card : 
1  Lost,  strayed  or  stolen,  good-looking  chap,  a 
strapper,  six  feet  plus.  Answers  to  the  name  of 
Donald.  No  questions  asked  if  — !" 

Jack  had  turned  on  his  heel,  and  gone  out  for 
a  tramp  over  the  links. 

"  Uncommonly  touchy  just  now,"  complained 
the  very  young  member  who  had  teased  him. 

Jack  knew  that  comments  would  be  made  after 
his  departure,  but  if  he  remained,  there  would  be 
chaffing  to  be  endured,  and  he  was  in  no  mood  for 
that.  Enforced  absence  from  Sylvia  was  becom- 
ing harder  and  harder  to  bear,  and  the  long  silence 


HEARD  ON  THE  LINKS        265 

—  a  letter  would  have  been  something  —  that  is, 
such  a  letter  as  she  once  wrote  when,  for  a  few 
days,  they  were  apart.  Now,  week  after  week 
went  by  with  never  a  word. 

"  You  must  not  write  unless  you  can  refrain 
from  coaxing  me  to  give  up  that  which  I  came  here 
to  attain." 

Over  and  over  these  words  repeated  themselves 
until  Jack  wished  that  they  would  cease.  How 
could  he  write,  and  not  plead  ?  And  of  what  com- 
fort had  that  last  trip  to  the  old  house  been?  He 
had  held  her  in  his  arms  once  more,  and  the  mem- 
ory only  made  his  present  longing  greater.  Pas- 
sionately he  had  kissed  her  cheeks,  her  lips,  her 
white  neck,  but  did  the  memory  satisfy  his  hunger 
now?  He  was  hurt,  too  deeply  hurt,  too 
angry  to  bear  jokes  or  teasing  that,  at  another 
time  would  have  failed  to  ruffle  his  good  temper, 
and  he  had  left  the  club-house,  starting  out  on  a 
tramp  that  should  ensure  him  the  privilege,  a  great 
privilege  at  that  time,  of  being  alone. 

He  did  not  see  the  waiting  figure  of  the  girl 
until  he  had  passed  the  saplings;  would  not  have 
noticed  her  then  but  for  her  cheery  greeting.  He 
was  striding  along,  his  eyes  downcast,  when  her 
shrill  voice  awoke  him,  as  from  an  unhappy 
dream. 


266        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Why,  what  a  surprise !  Who  ever  would 
have  expected  to  see  you  out  here?"  she  called, 
with  a  forced  laugh. 

A  shadow  passed  over  his  face,  that  Irma  either 
did  not,  or  would  not  see. 

"Do  take  me  over  the  links.  I'm  simply  wild 
to  see  their  extent."  Boldly  she  extended  her 
hand.  What  choice  had  he  but  to  assist  her  over  ? 

Courteously,  but  without  apparent  interest,  he 
lifted  his  cap,  murmured  something  about  its  hav- 
ing been  a  surprise  to  have  met  her  there,  and  of- 
fered her  his  hand.  He  did  not  say  it  was  a 
pleasure.  One  could  place  confidence  in  what  he 
did  say,  because  he  had  the  trait  of  meaning  what 
he  said,  and  he  looked  with  contempt  upon  those 
men  who  had  acquired  the  habit  of  paying  vacuous 
compliments,  believing  that  courtesy  demanded  it. 

"  Did  you  notice  the  outrageous  old  cottage  just 
over  the  wall?  "  twittered  Irma,  continuing  before 
Jack  could  reply;  "It's  weather-beaten  outside, 
and  desperately  inconvenient  to  live  in.  I  should 
never  have  come  there,  but  Mrs.  Renshaw,  the  old 
lady  who  lives  there,  is  a  distant  relative  of 
father's,  and  she  was  feeling  neglected,  so  it  was 
plainly  the  duty  of  some  member  of  the  family  to 
come  here  for  a  while  and  cheer  her.  I  was  hav- 
ing a  lovely  summer,  and  a  lot  of  pleasure  planned ; 


HEARD  ON  THE  LINKS        267 

but  no  one  else  was  willing  to  come,  so  I  wouldn't 
let  the  poor  old  lady  feel  like  that.  I  dropped 
everything  and  came.  She's  so  deaf,  I'm  really 
quite  weary  trying  to  make  her  hear,  and  her  dis- 
position is  so  unpleasant  that  it  makes  the  visit 
here  doubly  hard,  but  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  remain 
for  a  while  and  cheer  her." 

Irma's  expression  was  that  of  one  who  was 
sweetly  resigned  to  suffering  torture  for  the  good, 
or  comfort  of  another.  She  looked  up  at  Jack 
for  approval,  but  he  made  no  comment,  simply 
saying: 

"  You  will  be  here  for  a  while?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  so,"  she  replied,  "  two  or  three 
weeks,  at  least." 

For  a  time  they  walked  in  silence.  He  had 
never  liked  Irma  Delwin,  and  just  now,  when  he 
had  gone  out  from  the  club-house  in  order  to  be 
alone,  her  company  was  irritating. 

When  they  had  walked  to  the  farthest  border 
of  the  links,  Irma  realized  that  Jack  was  not  in- 
terested in  any  subject  that  she  proposed.  Occa- 
sionally he  had  spoken,  but  what  little  he  had  to 
say  had  been  of  the  most  impersonal  charac- 
ter. 

He  made  a  movement  as  if  about  to  start  to  re- 
turn, but  she  had  no  notion  of  at  once  going  back. 


268         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

She  was  angry  because  of  his  lack  of  interest,  and 
his  apparent  eagerness  to  return  and  thus  rid  him- 
self of  her  company.  He  was  not  rude,  for  he 
was  never  that,  but  he  was  so  coolly  courteous  that 
her  effort  to  charm  him  fell  flat. 

Well,  she  could  pay  him  in  full  measure  for  his 
indifference,  and,  at  the  same  time,  accomplish  her 
object  in  coming  to  the  cottage. 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  go  back  quite  yet,"  she  said. 
"  I've  been  wanting  so  to  enjoy  the  view  here.  I 
knew,  as  I  looked  from  the  upper  windows  at  the 
cottage,  that  it  must  be  charming,  and  those  hills 
so  blue  away  off  there  —  oh,  it  is  indeed  lovely. 
I'm  sure  there  never  was  a  prettier  view." 

The  Delwins  were  always  traveling,  and  it 
must  have  been  that  somewhere,  during  their  jour- 
neyings,  they  had  seen  some  spot  far  more  beauti- 
ful than  the  very  ordinary  landscape  upon  which 
Irma  stood  gazing.  This  thought  flitted  through 
Jack's  mind,  but  he  restrained  a  longing  to  ex- 
press it. 

"  Have  you  heard  the  latest  news?  "  she  asked 
suddenly. 

"  Probably  not,"  Jack  said,  "  I  have  been  so 
closely  occupied  with  business  matters  during  the 
day  and  so  tired  when  evening  came,  that  I've  been 
nowhere  where  news  is  generally  circulated." 


HEARD  ON  THE  LINKS        269 

"  Oh,  well,  it's  not  announced  yet,  but  I  am  not 
the  only  one  who  knows." 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  you  mean  Miss 
Vernon,  and  the  elderly  nobleman  whom  she  is 
said  to  have  captured,"  Jack  ventured. 

"  That  news  is  nearly  thirty  days  old,"  Irma 
replied  with  a  light,  nervous  laugh. 

"  No,  the  news  that  I  referred  to  is  surely  '  long- 
distance '  news,  and  comes  from  the  drollest  of 
out-of-the-way  places,  although  in  that  little  bor- 
ough, I  am  told  that  Squire  Luke  Elmore  is  con- 
sidered quite  a  personage;  and  now,  after  living 
the  life  of  prosperous  country  gentleman  for 
years,  he  proposes  to  leave  his  bachelor  days  be- 
hind him,  hence  his  engagement." 

"  Never  heard  of  him,"  Jack  remarked  indif- 
ferently. 

Here  was  the  chance  for  which  Irma  had 
planned. 

"  No?  Well,  he  is  doubtless  so  happy  that  he 
thinks  himself  more  important  than  ever,  and 
imagines  the  whole  world  agog,  because  all  the 
rustics  in  Blossomville  are  staring.  Sylvia  seems 
very  happy,  and, — " 

"Sylvia!" 

It  seemed  more  like  a  cry  than  a  name  forcibly 
exclaimed. 


270        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Why,  certainly  Sylvia  —  Sylvia  Durant," 
Irma  said,  cruelly  enjoying  his  evident  suffering. 

One  would  have  thought  that  the  sight  of  his 
strong  face,  white  to  the  lips,  and  then,  after  a 
moment,  suffused  with  a  sudden  rush  of  color, 
would  have  made  an  appeal  to  her  better  nature, 
only  that  that  was  just  what  she  did  not  possess. 
Cruel  she  was,  and  furiously  jealous,  and  what  is 
so  devoid  of  mercy  as  a  jealous  woman? 

"  I  took  a  trip  to  Blossomville  just  before  I 
came  here,  and  really,  dull  as  the  place  is,  the 
months  spent  there  have  worked  wonders  in  Sylvia. 
She  was  so  pale  when  she  was  in  the  social  whirl 
with  Mrs.  Van  Horn,  so  —  well,  not  exactly  deli- 
cate, but, — " 

She  glanced  at  Jack. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  look  tragic,"  she  said,  with  a 
hard  little  laugh. 

;<  We  all  know  that  Sylvia  was  considered  beau- 
tiful, and  surely  I  am  willing  to  admit  it,  but  it  is 
certainly  an  added  attraction,  that  rose-color  that 
has  tinted  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  are  brighter,  too. 
Oh,  but  she's  the  picture  of  health  and  happiness ! 
Of  course,  Mr.  Elmore  is  not  wealthy,  as  fortunes 
are  rated  in  our  set,  but  really,  he  is  well-to-do. 
I  thought  his  house  looked  truly  comfortable,  and 
its  grounds  cover  many  acres.  Fearfully  hum- 


HEARD  ON  THE  LINKS        271 

drum  life  to  settle  down  in  a  poky  little  place  like 
Blossomville,  but  if  one  is  so  desperately  in  love, 
I  suppose  the  location  matters  little.  I  truly  be- 
lieve Sylvia  is — " 

'  You  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure,  if  I  interrupt 
to  say  that  I  must  now  take  you  back  to  the  place 
where  you  are  staying.  I  have  a  matter  that  re- 
quires my  attention,  and  so  can  not  spend  more 
time  now  on  the  links,"  Jack  said  in  a  voice  that, 
while  unnatural,  was  at  least  steady.  It  had  cost 
a  desperate  effort  to  control  it  so  that  it  should  not 
quiver  with  pain. 

"  Oh,  surely,  I  would  not  think  of  detaining 
you,"  was  the  curt  reply.  Irma  was  angry. 

Two  matters  of  deep  interest  to  her  had  brought 
her  to  the  cottage.  One  was  to  turn  Jack  against 
Sylvia  Durant,  and  the  other  was  so  to  charm  him 
that  she  might  win  him  for  herself.  She  had  seen, 
at  the  start,  that  he  was  not  to  be  won  by  any 
charm  that  she  possessed.  Had  he  been  only  in- 
different, she  might  have  persisted.  Hers  was  not 
a  fine,  or  sensitive  nature.  She  cared  not  at  all 
how  she  obtained  his  regard.  "  Any  means  to  an 
end,"  had  ever  been  her  motto,  but  Jack  had  been 
worse  than  indifferent.  He  had  forced  himself 
to  be  courteous,  but  underneath  his  perfect  manner, 
a  duller  girl  than  Irma  could  easily  read  his  lack 


272         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

of  interest.  Plainly,  he  had  wished  that  on  his 
walk  he  had  been  unaccompanied.  Well,  she  had 
made  him  see  that  his  regard  for  Sylvia  had  been 
a  vain  and  idle  thing,  since  she  was  engaged  to  an- 
other. It  had  been  a  pleasure  to  tell  him  that. 
To  be  sure,  Irma  knew  that  she  had  deliberately 
falsified,  and  her  cheek  reddened  guiltily  as  she 
thought  of  it. 

Over  and  over,  with  condemning  force,  the  pen- 
ciled lines  in  the  little  red  book  repeated  them- 
selves, and  she  wished  that  she  could  shut  them 
from  her  mind.  "  I  am  beginning  to  hate  the 
name  of  '  Elmore.'  Why  must  I  be  annoyed  with 
him?  Is  it  not  enough  that  I  have  to  remain 
here?"  Would  those  lines  forever  haunt  her? 
Evidently  Sylvia  detested  the  man  to  whom  Irma 
had  reported  her  betrothed ! 

'  All's  fair  in  love  and  war,'  and  this  is  both. 
Tho'  it's  maddening  to  admit  it,  I've  loved  this 
man,  who  has  hardly  a  word  for  me,  and  surely 
I've  fought  a  mighty  battle  with  my  temper  to 
keep  it  from  bursting  forth  while  enduring  the 
companionship  of  old  Mrs.  Renshaw  and  her 
stuffy  little  cottage,  and  what  have  I  gained?  " 

These    were    Irma's    angry    thoughts    as    she 
tramped  along  beside  Stanwood. 


HEARD  ON  THE  LINKS        273 

Then  an  evil  light  brightened  her  small  black 
eyes. 

Yes,  there  was  a  doubtful  joy.  There  was  the 
chance  that  she  had  touched  Jack's  pride  with  a 
blade  so  keen,  and  so  skillfully  poisoned  that  he 
would  be  sufficiently  prejudiced  against  Sylvia  to 
refrain  from  writing  to  her,  or  going  to  her,  even 
if  his  love  for  her  still  lived. 

Irma  made  an  attempt  at  conversation  to  cover 
her  chagrin,  but  it  proved  futile,  and  cheated 
neither  Stanwood  nor  herself.  Her  lack  of  inter- 
est in  subjects  which  she  plainly  proposed  for  the 
sole  object  of  breaking  the  silence  was  all  too  evi- 
dent, and  Stanwood  answered  in  monosyllables. 
When  they  reached  that  part  of  the  wall,  where 
a  short  time  before  she  had  greeted  him,  she 
turned  sharply  about,  and  for  the  first  time  on 
the  homeward  walk,  looked  directly  up  at  him, 
then  quickly  turned  away. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said,  as  she  placed  a  foot  on 
a  projecting  stone  in  the  wall.  Ignoring  his  prof- 
fered hand,  she  clambered  over,  springing  to  the 
ground  on  the  other  side. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  taken  so  much  of  your 
time,"  she  said,  "  but  having  seen  the  links,  I  shall 
not  need  to  be  shown  over  them  again.  I  too  have 


274        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

matters  calling  for  immediate  attention.  Doubt- 
less it  will  be  some  time  before  we  meet  again." 

She  was  gone  like  a  flash,  vanishing  around  the 
corner  of  the  cottage. 

Stanwood,  half-stunned  by  the  news  that  he 
had  heard,  realized  in  a  vague  way  that  her  de- 
parture had  been  abrupt,  but  stronger  was  the 
feeling  of  relief  that  once  more  he  was  alone. 
His  mind  had  been  harassed  by  unhappy  thoughts 
when  he  had  left  the  club-house  an  hour  before. 
Now,  with  the  miserable  tale  of  Irma's  invention 
ringing  in  his  ears,  he  was  wretched. 

He  had  been  hungry  for  news  of  Sylvia.  What 
an  answer  to  the  cry  of  his  heart! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

ESCAPE    FROM   SCRUTINY 

THE  firm  of  Stanwood  and  Broadbent  stood 
for  all  that  was  exact  and  upright  in  busi- 
ness. Marcus  Stanwood,  the  senior  part- 
ner, had  long  ago  acquired  an  immense  fortune, 
yet  he  did  not  retire. 

Some  there  were  who  said  that  he  was  too  ob- 
stinate to  retire,  and  also  that  he  feared  that  some 
other  man  might  step  into  his  place,  and  become 
as  prominent  as  he  had  been.  A  shrewd  man,  a 
man  whose  fingers  seemed  fairly  to  turn  to  gold 
whatever  they  touched,  he  was  believed  to  be  a 
paragon  of  business  sagacity,  while  men  who  had 
toiled  bravely,  yet  had  not  "  made  good,"  as  the 
saying  is,  turned  for  advice  to  Marcus  Stanwood, 
multi-millionaire. 

To  be  sure,  they  did  not  always  receive  it.  The 
old  saying  that  that  which  is  worth-while  is  rarely 
given  away,  is  true.  It  is  usually  the  person  who 
has  never  attained  either  fame  or  fortune  who 

275 


276        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

feels  competent  to  tell  others  how  to  win  success. 
One  is  often  tempted  to  ask  these  people  to  try 
their  freely-offered  formula  and  then,  if  it 
"  works,"  the  whole  world  will  follow  in  their 
footsteps.  Grudgingly  old  Marcus  Stanwood  had 
given  a  position  to  Jack. 

"  You  needn't  expect  any  especial  favor,  young 
man,  for  the  fact  that  you  are  my  nephew  will 
have  no  influence  with  me.  If  you  can  prove  that 
you  are  worth  the  wages  offered  you  to  begin  with, 
you  may  remain  in  my  employ.  If,  later,  you 
can  convince  us  that  you  are  capable  of  filling  a 
more  important  place,  you  will  be  promoted  and 
thus  given  the  chance  to  prove  that,  too. 

"  This  does  not  mean  that  I  am  in  any  sense  in- 
terested in  you,  other  than  that  we  are  always 
looking  for  men  who  are  worth-while.  You  may 
report  to-morrow  morning,  ready  to  go  to  work. 
Men  whom  we  hire  are  expected  to  work.  We 
don't  need  ornamental  men  here.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

Having  thus  freed  his  mind,  Marcus  Stanwood 
wheeled  around  in  his  chair  and  commenced  to 
open  his  mail. 

"  I  will  be  here  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will 
say  now  that  I  am  determined  to  climb.  Good- 
morning,  sir." 


ESCAPE  FROM  SCRUTINY     277 

It  may  be  that  the  man  at  the  desk  answered 
with  a  faint  growl,  for  that  was  a  fixed  habit, 
but  if  he  did,  Jack  did  not  hear  it. 

How  he  had  longed  to  go  out  from  that  office, 
and  never  return.  He  felt  as  if  the  position  had 
been  thrown  at  him,  as  a  bone  might  have  been 
thrown  to  a  hungry  dog. 

Pride  is  a  fine  attribute,  if  one  also  possesses  the 
wherewithal  with  which  to  support  it. 

Jack,  possessed  of  little  save  pride  and  ambi- 
tion, swallowed  the  first,  summoned  the  second  to 
his  aid,  and  appeared  at  the  offices  of  Stanwood 
&  Broadbent  just  as  the  great  door  opened  on  the 
following  morning. 

For  five  years  he  had  worked  harder  than  any 
other  man  employed  there,  and  during  that  time, 
he  had  twice  earned  promotion.  The  last  two 
of  those  five  years  had  been  brightened  by  the 
thought  that  he  was  delving  to  place  himself 
where  he  could  give  Sylvia  comfort,  if  not  luxury, 
in  a  home  of  their  own.  Their  engagement  had 
been  a  happy  secret,  and  the  fact  that  they  had 
had  to  resort  to  various  ruses  to  meet,  had  only 
added  zest  to  their  romance. 

Then  Mrs.  Van  Horn  had  determined  to  sepa- 
rate them,  and  Sylvia,  taking  the  reins  in  her  own 
hands,  had  gone  to  the  old  house  at  Blossomville, 


278        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

his  pleading  for  an  immediate  marriage  proving 
unavailing. 

How  he  had  worked  while  they  had  been  apart ! 
And  now? 

Only  a  day  had  passed  since  his  latest  advance- 
ment, with  a  proportionate  increase  of  salary. 
Old  Marcus  Stanwood's  small  eyes  had  glittered 
when  he  had  called  Jack  to  his  private  office  to 
notify  him,  and  they  had  glittered,  not  with  the 
joy  of  rewarding  earnest  endeavor,  of  acknowl- 
edging that  Jack  had  made  good.  No,  indeed! 
No  one  ever  heard  of  the  old  banker  having  done 
anything  like  that!  No,  the  flash  in  his  eyes  was 
the  sudden  light  of  greed,  that  the  young  man  had 
proved  himself  capable  of  making  more  money 
for  the  firm  —  more  money,  that  was  the  thing 
that  always  awakened  Marcus  Stanwood,  that 
drove  the  sullen  look  from  his  face,  and  made  him 
look  almost  alive,  for  the  time  being. 

On  the  day  that  Jack  had  left  the  club-house 
for  a  tramp  over  the  links,  his  mind  had  been  oc- 
cupied with  a  problem  that  was  far  more  baffling 
than  any  that  he  had  faced  in  the  office,  and  there 
were  problems  a  plenty  there.  Those  business 
problems  were  solvable  if  only  a  fellow  strove 


ESCAPE  FROM  SCRUTINY     279 

with  a  will,  but  here  was  one  that  he  must  work 
out  in  solitude. 

Every  thought,  every  act  was  for  Sylvia,  and 
the  joy  of  this  latest  reward  for  persistent  en- 
deavor was  the  thought  of  the  added  comfort 
that  it  would  afford  her.  How  should  he  tell 
her?  That  was  the  puzzling  question  that  he 
was  engrossed  with  when  he  set  out.  Simple 
matter,  surely,  to  write  to  her;  but  how  could  he 
write  of  greater  prosperity  and  refrain  from  urg- 
ing her  to  relent,  to  give  up  what  he  honestly  be- 
lieved to  be  a  "  freak,"  a  "  stunt,"  and  make  him 
happy?  To  go  to  her  with  the  good  news  would 
be  delightful,  but  even  more  difficult  to  resist  the 
temptation  to  plead  that  the  time  of  separation 
might  be  shortened. 

"  I  won't  resist!  I'll  go  to  Sylvia  and  tell  her 
that  now  surely  we  can  make  the  little  home  that 
we  both  have  longed  for.  I  was  a  fool  to  leave 
Blossomville  that  morning  in  a  huff.  I  should 
have  renewed  my  pleading  —  no,  better  than  that 

—  I  should  have  insisted  that  longer  waiting  was 
out  of  the  question.     Sylvia  has  a  will  of  her  own 

—  what  woman  who  is  worth-while  has  not  ?     But 
I  now  believe  that  she  might  have  reconsidered, 
might  even  consented  to  leave  the   old   Durant 


280        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

house  at  once,  if  I  had  been  firmer.  I'll  go  to  her 
to-morrow." 

At  that  point,  Irma's  shrill  voice  had  aroused 
him,  and  upon  looking  up  he  had  seen  her  as  she 
stood  looking  over  the  low  wall  and  beckoning 
to  him.  He  had  reached  a  spot  so  near  her  that 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  pretend  not  to  have 
heard  her  calling,  or  to  ignore  her  outstretched 
hands.  Then  —  oh,  the  wretched  news  that  she 
had  told  with  such  evident  delight !  Again  and 
again  he  asked  himself  why  he  implicitly  believed 
what  she  had  told,  but  as  often  as  he  strove  to 
put  the  tale  from  him,  the  remembrance  of 
Sylvia's  firmness  in  the  face  of  his  pleading  would 
come  back  to  him  and  the  bitter  feeling  that  she 
seemed  able  to  live  without  him  would  sting  like 
a  dart.  Then  the  description  of  Elmore's  home 
and  its  surroundings  would  recur  to  him  with  com- 
pelling force.  Had  Sylvia  been  so  happy  in  the 
bond  that  pledged  her  to  another,  that  she  had 
shown  Irma  his  possessions?  It  must  be  so. 
How  else  would  Irma,  a  stranger  in  the  village, 
know  the  place,  or  to  whom  it  belonged? 

Engaged  to  another !  How  strange  a  thing  to 
have  heard,  and  stranger  yet,  that  Sylvia  should 
have  hastened  to  tell  it  to  a  girl  whom  she  had 
never  liked,  while  he,  so  far  as  she  knew,  was  in 


ESCAPE  FROM  SCRUTINY     281 

the  dark,  feeling  that,  although  estranged,  she  still 
was  pledged  to  him.  To  be  sure,  she  had  not 
asked  him  to  release  her,  but  for  what  did  that 
count?  That  she  had  given  her  heart  to  another 
only  proved  how  poor  a  thing  was  the  tie  that  had 
bound  them  together,  for  life,  he  had  believed! 

His  was  a  strong,  loving  nature  and  Sylvia 
Durant  had  held  him  captive,  heart  and  soul.  He 
could  never  have  thought  of  putting  another  in 
her  place,  the  place  in  his  life  that  she  had  made 
her  own.  He  had  believed  her  to  be  as  steadfast 
as  himself. 

'  What  has  changed  her?  "  he  asked  again  and 
again;  and  then,  in  desperation,  he  had  told  old 
Marcus  Stanwood  that  he  would  take  the  four 
months'  business  trip  that  an  older  man  had  dis- 
liked to  take  and  had  all  but  refused  when  his  em- 
ployer had  proposed  it.  The  older  man  had  a 
wife,  and  an  invalid  son,  and  he  had  dreaded  to  be 
so  long  away  from  them. 

''  I've  no  one  who  will  care  if  I  am  away  for 
months,"  Jack  had  said  bitterly,  to  which  his 
uncle  had  replied  shortly: 

"  So  much  the  better  for  you.  You  don't  speak 
as  if  you  appreciated  your  freedom,  but  I  can  tell 
you,  for  I  know,  you're  a  lucky  chap  to  have  no 
hangers-on.  Mighty  lucky!" 


282        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

It  was  never  lucky  to  contradict  Marcus  Stan- 
wood,  so  Jack  remained  silent. 

For  four  months  he  would  have  but  little  leis- 
ure, and  that  would  be  a  blessing,  for  now  leisure 
meant  opportunity  to  think,  and  his  thoughts  were 
not  cheerful  company.  He  believed  that  he  had 
chosen  wisely.  It  would  please  his  uncle  greatly 
that  he  should  take  the  long  hard  trip ;  it  was  an- 
other evidence  of  his  willingness  to  work.  For 
himself  it  meant  absence  from  those  who  knew 
him  and  could  question  him  as  to  his  retirement 
from  all  the  social  pleasures  that  he  was  wont  to 
enjoy. 

Even  Trefton  annoyed  him,  good  fellow  though 
he  was.  Not  that  Trefton  asked  impertinent 
questions,  but  often  when  he  appeared  engrossed 
in  his  paper  or  magazine,  Jack  had  caught  him 
casting  furtive  —  yes,  anxious  glances  in  his  direc- 
tion, and  even  that,  although  it  expressed  kindly 
solicitude,  was  annoying. 

It  was  surely  wise  to  take  the  trip  that  would 
give  four  months'  respite  from  watchful  eyes. 

"  Forward  no  mail  to  me  that  may  be  delivered 
here,"  he  told  his  stenographer.  "  There  will 
be  nothing  requiring  my  immediate  attention. 
Hold  everything  until  I  return." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

AT   BLOSSOMVILLE 

EZRA  WILEY  leaned  upon  the  little  gate 
and  looked  eagerly  up  and  down  the  road 
in  the  hope  that  some  one  might  be  in 
sight.  He  loved  his  good  wife,  Temperance,  and 
never  tired  of  boasting  of  her  energy  that,  in 
truth,  was  prodigious,  but  there  were  times  when 
he  fled  from  the  turmoil  in  the  house,  caused  by 
a  sudden  insatiable  greed  for  housecleaning. 
At  such  times  confusion  reigned.  The  house, 
exquisitely  clean  at  all  times,  must  on  these  occa- 
sions be  turned  upside  down,  and  Ezra  would  de- 
clare that  there  was  not  a  chair  to  sit  on  or  a  place 
where  he  could  put  his  hat  and  coat. 

"  More  room  outdoors,"  he  would  say,  and 
out  he  would  go  and  remain  out,  appearing  only 
at  meal  times,  and  then  warily. 

"  Shan't  go  in  till  the  harricane  has  abated," 
was  his  invariable  threat.  Now,  as  he  leaned 
over  the  gate,  he  saw  a  man  approaching,  and  the 
uproar  at  the  house  was,  for  the  time,  forgotten 

283 


284        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

in  the  pleasure  of  having  some  one  to  talk  with. 

"  I  do  declare,  Ezry,  I'm  glad  ter  see  ye,"  said 
the  man,  who  proved  to  be  an  old  friend  and 
neighbor  who  had  not  been  in  Blossomville  for 
some  years. 

"  Why,  Zeke  Wilmot,  I  am  glad  'nough  ter  see 
ye  here  once  more.  Come  inter  the  garding  an' 
set  down  a  spell." 

"  Ye've  prospered,  Ezry,"  the  man  said,  for  at 
a  glance  he  saw  that  the  house  and  barn  were  in 
good  repair,  the  land  well  tilled,  and  that  his  old 
neighbor  had  added  many  acres  to  what  had 
originally  been  a  small  farm. 

'  Yes,  I  hev,  an'  Zeke,  I've  allus  been  some  fa- 
vored, but  I've  been  uncommon  fort'nate  ever 
sence  Aunt  Phyllis  came  ter  make  her  home  with 
us.  She's  a  blessin'." 

'  That's  the  sweet-faced  woman  I  remember 
seein'  here  jest  'fore  I  left  the  village.  She  was  a 
widder,  wa'n't  she,  Ezry?  " 

"  Yes,  she's  a  widder,  but  she's  so  used  ter  bein' 
a  relict  that  she's  reel  cheerful  now,"  Ezra  re- 
plied. 

'  Ye  mean  she's  resigned?  " 

14  Why,  yes,  that's  'bout  it.  Ye  see,  she  was  mar- 
ried ter  a  sailor  feller  when  she  was  seventeen,  an' 
in  less'n  two  year,  he  took  sick  an'  was  buried  at 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  285 

sea,  an'  while  she  did  mourn  fer  him  as  was 
proper,  I  hold  'twas  easier  fer  her  ter  be  resigned, 
bein's  she'd  never  seen  much  of  him,"  quoth  Ezra, 
"  but  on  the  whole  I  don't  know  as  'twas,  either," 
he  resumed,  "  fer  when  ye  come  ter  think  on't, 
seein'  so  little  of  him,  he  quite  nat'rally  'peared  ter 
be  'most  a  angel,  whereas,  ef  he'd  lived,  quite 
likely  he  might  hev  turned  out  ter  be  somethin' 
else.  He  might  hev  been  a  prize,  an'  then  again 
he  might  hev  been  such  that  she'd  been  even  more 
resigned  than  she  is  now!  " 

"Good  land,  Ezry,  how  ye  talk!  "  exclaimed 
Zeke  Wilmot. 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  sayin'  nothing  agin  him,"  Ezra 
hastened  to  say.  "  He  was  a  reel  nice  young 
feller,  but  'twas  only  last  week  the  parson  stopped 
as  he  was  goin'  by,  an'  he  says,  says  he :  '  Men 
that's  gone  has  made  their  record,  but  ye  never 
know  when  some  good  man  will  git  full  er  the  ol' 
Nick,  an'  cut  up  in  such  a  way  that  his  life-hist'ry 
is  spiled  fer  makin'  good  readin'.' 

"  l  But  parson,'  I  said,  '  they's  some  that  would 
buy  that  kind  of  a  hist'ry  book,  where  the  tur'ble 
good  kind  ye'd  hev  ter  give  ter  'em,  an'  then  ye'd 
not  be  sure  they'd  read  it.'  'Ezry!  Ezry! 
Ye're  some  worldly,'  he  said,  but  I  noticed  that 
when  I  laughed,  he  jined  in." 


286        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Oh,  he's  seen  somethin'  er  the  world  ef  he  is 
settled  down  in  this  leetle  village,"  Zeke  remarked 
sagely. 

"  He's  always  tellin'  'bout  Charity,  an'  what  a 
awful  sight  it  covers,  an'  that  time  he  said  that 
some  good  men  got  full  er  the  OF  Nick,  an'  spiled 
their  life  hist'ry,  he  tried  ter  fix  'em  up  a  bit  by 
sayin'  that  they  prob'ly'd  repent  'fore  their  last 
days  came.  '  It's  never  too  late  ter  mend,  ye 
know,  Ezry,'  he  said,  'an  '  I  agreed  with  him, 
fer  I  know  'twas  so,  'tho'  what  he  meant,  and 
what  /  had  in  mind  wa'n't  jest  the  same  thing. 
I  was  thinkin'  er  the  time  when  Temp'rance  was 
away  on  a  visit.  I  und'took  ter  mend  my 
wes'kit,  an'  I  patched  a  hole,  an'  done  it  fair  ter 
middlin',  an'  wound  up  by  sewin'  on  a  button  jest 
as  the  clock  struck  twelve.  Bein's  I'm  us'ally  in 
bed  by  eight,  I  grinned  at  the  ol'  clock,  an',  says  I : 
'  'Snever  too  late  to  mend,'  an'  I  allus  thought  that 
ol'  clock  grinned  back." 

"  Ezry,  ye're  a  case,  a  reg'lar  case,"  remarked 
the  caller,  "  but  tell  me  the  news.  Is  Lem 
Moody's  darter  married,  her  that  had  the  red  hair, 
an'  a  temper  ter  match?  " 

"  Lor',  yes!  She's  been  married  goin'  on  six 
year." 

"  Wai,  ef  she  is  married,  I  know  she  done  the 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  287 

marryin'.  No  feller  'd  hev  the  courage  ter  marry 
her,  so  I'll  ask  ye  who'd  she  marry?  " 

'  The  miller's  son,  Tim,  an'  a  good  smart  pair 
they  make.  When  she  gits  inter  a  fust-class 
tantrum,  he  cuts  fer  the  mill,  an'  grinds  the  meal, 
leavin'  her  ter  grind  her  teeth  ef  she  wants  ter. 
Leastways,  when  the  mill's  goin'  he  couldn't  hear 
her  talk  ef  she  follered  him,  so  she  stays  ter  home, 
an'  they  hev  peace  'til  the  next  storm.  She's  got 
her  good  points.  She's  a  master  hand  at  house- 
work." 

Zeke  Wilmot  clasped  his  hands  around  one 
knee,  and  leaning  against  the  broad  back  of  the 
garden  seat,  surveyed  Ezra  with  marked  approval. 

"  Ezry,  ye're  the  same  Ezry  Wiley  that  I  used 
ter  know,  a  keepin'  up  yer  habit  er  tellin'  the  good 
pints  in  the  folks  ye  know,  even  when  their  virtoos 
is  so  small  that  ye  actooally  hev  ter  squint  ter 
see  'em." 

"  Wai,  Zeke,  I  hold  that  the  meanest  pusson 
that  ever  lived  has  good  in  him  somewhere,  an' 
I'd  'nough  sight  rather  look  fer  it,  than  go  huntin' 
'round  fer  flaws.  I  don't  take  no  delight  in  flaws. 
I've  no  use  fer  'em." 

For  a  time  the  two  old  friends  sat  talking  of 
those  whom  both  had  known.  Ezra,  believing 
that  he  had  told  all  the  important  news,  was  tax- 


288        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

ing  his  memory  with  the  hope  of  recalling  at  least 
one  more  item,  when  a  sound,  as  of  a  pick  strik- 
ing the  ground,  broke  the  stillness.  Ezra  knew 
well  whence  it  came,  but  his  friend  was  startled. 

"  Ain't  makin'  a  county  road  through  yer 
property,  be  they?"  he  asked. 

"  Lan'  sake,  no !  "  Ezra  answered  cheerily. 
"  That's  old'  What-ye-call-him  that  thinks  he's  a 
prophet,  though  which  prophet  I  hain't  never  been 
able  ter  find  out.  He  b'lieves  he's  one  er  them 
fellers  that  used  ter  prophesy,  but  sometimes  he's 
one  on  'em,  an'  sometimes  'nother,  but  lately  he's 
sort  o'  techy,  fer  when  I  asked  him  which  prophet 
he  was,  he  got  riled,  an'  told  me  'twan't  no  affair 
o'  mine,  so  I  let  him  'lone,  now,  mostly.  Yest'day 
he  started  ter  dig  fer  gold  back  er  the  house,  an' 
as  he  don't  dig  a  great  while  in  any  one  place,  I 
jest  let  him  dig." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  him  when  I  was  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. He  proph'sied  that  Jehiel  Flanders 
would  lose  his  money  ef  he  bet  at  the  hoss  race, 
an'  said  he'd  go  ter  perdition,  too.  When  Jehiel 
bet  on  the  sorrel  mare,  won  a  hundred  dollars,  put 
that  inter  a  dinky  little  piece  er  land,  an'  sold  that 
land  fer  a  hundred  an'  fifty,  done  all  that  in  three 
weeks,  the  prophet  was  mad.  Jehiel  had  knocked 
his  prophesyin'  higher'n  a  kite." 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  289 

"  An'  Jehiel  stayed  in  Blossomville  'stead  er 
goin'  ter  perdition,"  Ezra  said,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  I  seen  a  feller  at  the  deepot  that  thinks  them 
two  places  is  the  same,"  Zeke  said  slyly. 

"  Oh,  that's  no  way  ter  speak  er  Blossomville," 
Ezry  said. 

"  The  feller  I  spoke  of  seemed  ter  think  'twas 
perdition  that  suffered  from  the  comparison," 
Zeke  responded. 

Ezra  appeared  not  to  have  noticed  the  last  re- 
mark. 

"  It's  a  bit  chilly  out  here  now,"  he  said. 
"  The  sun  has  shifted,  an'  I  don't  hear  no  racket 
from  the  house,  so  I  guess  Temp'rance  has  fin- 
ished cleanin'.  Come  up  ter  the  house  an'  stay  a 
spell.  These  fall  days  it  seems  good  ter  sit  near 
the  fireplace,  an'  watch  the  blazin'  er  the  logs 
while  we  talk." 

The  two  old  friends  noticed,  as  they  neared 
the  house,  that  the  sound  of  the  pick-axe  had 
ceased. 

"  Sometimes  he  gits  down  inter  the  hole  he's 
dug,  an'  commoons  with  hisself,  er  that's  what 
he  calls  it,  but  it  maybe  he's  gone  off  ter  dig  some- 
where else.  They's  no  tellin',"  Ezra  said,  as  they 
were  entering  the  house.  Evidently  he  was  not 
curious  as  to  which  course  the  prophet  had  taken. 


290        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

At  "  The  Three  Birches  "  the  evidence  that 
winter  was  approaching  was  to  be  seen  at  every 
point.  The  lower  story  of  the  old  house  was  now 
visible  from  the  road.  For  the  first  time  since 
Sylvia,  closely  followed  by  Aunt  Zilla,  had  left 
the  coach  and  opened  the  little  gate,  both  en- 
trances stood  revealed. 

The  trumpet  vine  and  the  rambler  rose  still  en- 
circled the  pillars  and  crept  across  the  roof  of  the 
porch,  but  both  were  leafless  now,  only  their 
sturdy  stems  remaining,  like  loyal  friends  whose 
outward  appearance  is  shabby,  but  whose  hearts 
are  true.  All  through  the  summer  months  they 
had  faithfully  hidden  the  weather-beaten  pillars, 
and  the  moss-covered  shingles  of  the  porch  roof, 
that  now  the  sunlight  ruthlessly  displayed.  The 
woodbine  at  the  side  entrance  had  turned  scarlet, 
its  bloom-covered  berries  had  been  abundant,  but 
both  berries  and  leaves  now  lay  upon  the  path,  a 
sodden  mass. 

The  garden  flowers  had  vanished,  only  their 
dryed  stalks  remaining,  erect,  like  little  sentries 
each  side  the  path,  whom  one  must  pass,  before 
entering  the  house.  The  blossoms  that  in  sum- 
mer had  peeped  through  the  fence  were  gone, 
the  shrubs  were  bare,  and  the  broken  palings  were 
now  in  evidence  save  where,  outside  the  garden, 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  291 

the  fall  asters  had  blossomed,  gone  to  seed,  and 
now  like  ghost  flowers,  white  and  silvery,  seemed 
trying  to  hide  the  widened  openings  in  the  fence. 

The  great  trees  towering  above  the  chimneys 
made  a  dismal  background  for  the  old  house, 
whose  hipped  roof  was  as  moss-grown  as  the 
porch  roof  below.  A  single  dormer  window,  the 
glass  lunette  shaped  like  a  huge  staring  eye, 
looked  down  from  the  roof,  as  if  in  wonderment, 
at  the  wreck  of  the  garden's  beauty. 

The  clump  of  birches,  for  which  the  place  had 
been  named,  stood  out  boldly,  now  that  the 
althea  and  locust  trees  were  leafless.  In  the  sum- 
mer, they  had  seemed  to  be  sheltering  the  birches, 
that  now,  white  and  slender,  stood  boldly  forth, 
as  if  proclaiming  their  importance. 

"  Are  we  not  worthy  specimens?  It  is  from  us 
that  the  old  place  took  its  name,"  they  seemed 
to  say. 

Two  figures  were  now  advancing,  one  on  the 
forest-road,  the  other  on  the  road  from  the  vil- 
lage. 

The  one  on  the  forest-road  was  accompanied 
by  a  dog,  who  kept  close  beside  the  graceful 
figure,  often  lifting  his  head  to  look  eagerly  up 
into  the  face  of  the  girl  whom  he  loved.  A  large 
hat  with  a  single  drooping  plume  shadowed  dark 


292         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

eyes  that  looked  down  sadly  at  the  dog.  The 
leash  with  which  she  held  him  was  quite  un- 
necessary as  a  rule,  but  once  or  twice  he  had  been 
tempted,  and  yielding,  had  raced  off  through  the 
woods,  returning  home  after  some  hours'  absence, 
looking  ashamed  of  his  truancy. 

"  Only  you  to  tramp  with,  Laddie,  and  you 
can't  even  call  my  name,"  Sylvia  said. 

As  if  he  scented  a  reproach,  Laddie  sidled 
closer.  She  removed  the  leash,  and  with  her 
hand  on  his  collar,  walked  slowly  toward  the 
house. 

"  I'm  lonely,  Laddie,"  she  said,  "  and  there's 
not  a  soul,  save  myself,  whom  I  can  blame  for 
that.  I  came  here  of  my  own  volition  —  no  one 
sent  me;  but  Laddie,  I  came  here  for  Jack,  just 
for  Jack.  How  could  I  go  to  him,  empty-handed, 
to  be  just  what  Aunt  Daphne  said :  '  A  dead 
weight,  instead  of  a  helpmeet'?" 

The  dog  whined  as  if  to  imply  that  he  under- 
stood. 

"  But,  Laddie,"  she  continued,  "  each  day  it  be- 
comes harder  to  bear,  and  the  winter  will  seem 
endless.  It  is  November  now.  How  can  I  wait 
until  the  first  of  June  ?  I  can  call  Jack  to  me  along 
the  last  of  May,  that  is,  I  can  if  — "  She  paused. 

Irma's  gossip,  uniting  Jack's  name  with  that  of 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  293 

Fannie  Ardmore  came  back  clearly  to  her,  and 
while  she  could  not  believe  that  Fannie's  shallow 
nature  would  in  any  way  appeal  to  Jack,  she  could 
not  forget,  nor  could  she  think  Irma's  chatter 
wholly  idle. 

That  which  now  troubled  Sylvia  was  the  fact 
that  a  letter  written  to  Jack  had  received  no  re- 
ply. It  was  now  nearly  three  weeks  since  she 
had  mailed  it. 

She  had  been  haunted  with  what  Irma  had  told 
her,  and  at  last,  feeling  that  she  must  have  a  com- 
forting word  from  him,  had  written.  She  had 
told  herself  that  she  was  doing  an  unwise  thing. 
It  was  just  the  sort  of  letter  that  would  bring  Jack 
to  her;  and,  if  he  came,  he  would  renew  his  plead- 
ing. 

Well,  even  that  would  be  better  than  turning 
Irma's  miserable  gossip  over  and  over  until  heart 
and  mind  were  weary.  She  was  tired,  the  life  at 
the  old  house  was  even  worse  than  she  had  ex- 
pected, and  if  Jack  should  come, —  Why,  Jack 
would  plead,  and  she  ?  Ah,  surely  she  would  have 
sufficient  strength  to  resist  his  appealing,  and  to 
hold  fast  to  her  vow  to  remain,  and  claim  the 
property.  At  all  costs,  she  must  see  Jack, —  She 
believed  that  she  could  not  longer  endure  his  ab- 
sence. 


294        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Three  weeks  had  passed,  and  no  reply  to  her 
letter  had  reached  her.  No  sound  from  Jack! 
Why?  What  did  the  silence  mean? 

She  had  gone  for  a  walk,  taking  Laddie  with 
her,  but  as  she  returned,  and  pushed  wide  the  lit- 
tle gate,  she  felt  that  she  had  left  none  of  her 
anxiety  behind  her.  Rather  the  load  seemed 
heavier,  as  she  laid  her  long  cloak  on  a  chair  in 
the  hall,  and  tossed  her  hat  upon  it.  Sounds  from 
the  kitchen  told  that  Aunt  Zilla  was  busy  there. 
Sylvia  turned  toward  the  living-room,  Laddie 
closely  following. 

She  entered  and  softly  closed  the  door.  Evi- 
dently Aunt  Zilla  did  not  know  that  she  had  re- 
turned. It  seemed  to  Sylvia  that  she  must  sit  and 
rest  for  a  while,  before  being  obliged  to  talk. 
What  was  there  to  talk  of  that  could  hold  her 
attention?  Surely,  matters  of  local  importance 
interested  her  not  at  all. 

Aunt  Zilla  appeared  to  have  caught  the  gossipy 
spirit  of  Blossomville,  and  on  her  way  to  and  from 
the  store,  managed  to  acquire  bits  of  news  regard- 
ing the  Wiley  household,  the  two  Dale  sisters, 
Jim  Jimson,  and  a  few  others,  and  with  these,  and 
her  own  opinion  regarding  them,  she  endeavored 
to  entertain  Sylvia. 

She  experienced  keen  disappointment  when  her 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  295 

listener  seemed  not  to  care  greatly  that  Dorcas 
Dale  had  taken  a  prize  for  the  best  design  in 
"  drawed  in  "  rugs  at  the  County  fair,  that  Ezry 
Wiley  was  putting  an  ell  onto  the  rear  of  his 
house,  or  that  Jim  Jimson  was  driving  a  new 
span,  and  that  the  new  nags  were  "  skinnier  "  than 
the  ones  that  he  had  been  driving. 

Aunt  Zilla  did  not  expect  greatly  to  interest. 
She  was  merely  making  a  kindly  effort  to  turn 
Sylvia's  attention,  for  she  realized  that  the  girl 
was  worrying.  She  knew  nothing  of  the  letter 
that  had  been  mailed,  and  for  which  Sylvia  was 
anxiously  awaiting  a  reply. 

Laddie  watched  her  as  closely  as  did  Aunt  Zilla, 
and  with  this  difference.  Aunt  Zilla  watched 
cautiously,  the  dog  with  a  steady  stare.  Now,  as 
he  lay  at  Sylvia's  feet,  he  looked  up  at  her  and 
whined  for  a  word  or  caress.  He  thought  she 
had  too  long  been  silent. 

And  while  the  girl  sat  before  the  fire  dreaming, 
her  hand  upon  the  dog's  fine  head,  the  figure  that 
had  appeared  on  that  other  road  was  shambling 
toward  the  house. 

He  had  paused  often  upon  the  way,  and  now 
stood  staring  about  him,  as  if  doubtful  what  his 
next  move  should  be.  He  glanced  backward  over 
the  road  that  he  had  traversed,  then  looked 


296        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

forward    at    the    dusty    thoroughfare    ahead    of 
him. 

Suddenly,  although  a  cold  wind  was  rising,  he 
removed  his  coat,  tested  the  pickets  of  the  fence, 
appeared  satisfied  that  they  were  fairly  depend- 
able, and  hung  his  coat  upon  one  that  seemed  ca- 
pable of  holding  it.  Next,  off  came  his  hat,  then 
his  collar,  then  his  shoes.  One  might  have 
thought  that  he  was  preparing  for  bed.  The  ris- 
ing wind  set  the  old  sign  swinging.  Its  creaking 
startled  Sylvia  as  she  sat  thinking,  and  the  man 
near  the  gate  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  it. 

;'  Woe  unter  ye !  "  he  said,  but  the  old  sign  con- 
tinued to  swing  and  creak,  and  after  another  ges- 
ture, as  threatening  as  the  first,  he  apparently  de- 
cided to  let  it  creak,  since  he  evidently  could  not 
stop  it. 

And  now  another  coat  was  removed,  and  yet 
another,  each  a  bit  shabbier  than  the  one  pre- 
viously hung  upon  the  fence.  Although  his  gar- 
ments were  threadbare,  he  was  in  a  sense  in  "  full 
dress  "  in  that  he  evidently  wore  his  entire  ward- 
robe at  one  time.  Each  coat  was  hung  upon  a 
separate  paling,  and  when  three  rusty  vests  pro- 
longed the  line,  he  seemed  satisfied;  no,  not  quite, 
for  now  he  was  fumbling  in  the  pockets  of  the 
coats.  That  which  he  sought  proved  to  be  a  care- 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  297 

fully  folded  parcel,  which,  when  he  opened,  and 
shook  it  out  proved  to  be  a  three-yard  length  of 
flowered  calico  which  he  tenderly  spread  across 
the  entire  length  of  hanging  garments.  Stoop- 
ing, he  grasped  a  pick  that  lay  upon  the  ground, 
and  then  commenced  to  work  with  a  will. 

At  the  even  blows  upon  the  hard  earth  Sylvia 
started. 

"  What  a  place  this  is  for  strange  sounds ! 
Sometimes  a  rattling  blind,  or  loose  clapboard, 
always  that  creaking  sign,  and  now  and  again 
groans  that  seem  to  emanate  from  nowhere,  yet 
are  all  about  us,"  she  said,  covering  her  ears  with 
her  hands  as  if  to  shut  out  this  latest  din. 

It  was  useless.  The  slender  hands  could  not 
render  her  deaf  to  the  persistent  pounding,  or, 
thumping,  whichever  it  might  be,  and  it  sounded 
as  if  the  toiler  were  just  outside  the  door.  She 
rose  and  crossed  the  room.  There  was  no  one 
visible  on  the  path  or  in  the  garden. 

It  happened  that  the  prophet  had  been  seized 
with  a  spasm  of  pious  fervor,  and  at  that  moment 
was  on  his  knees  muttering  incoherently.  The 
long  line  of  shabby  garments  upon  the  fence  con- 
cealed him,  but  the  gayly  flowered  calico  was  a 
key  to  their  possessor's  identity.  Suddenly  an  un- 
kempt head  bobbed  above  the  fence,  then  the 


298        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

sturdy  arms  commenced  to  wield  the  pick.  Sylvia, 
worried  by  Jack's  silence,  startled  by  strange 
sounds,  felt  this  latest  annoyance  to  be  the  pro- 
verbial "  last  straw." 

"  He  must  stop  it!  "  she  cried,  "  I  can  not  have 
him  haunting  the  place !  "  and  she  flew  to  the  door. 

It  was  not  the  Sylvia  Durant  who  carried  her- 
self so  proudly,  nor  was  it  the  Sylvia  who  had  hid- 
den her  tear-filled  eyes  while  she  listened  to  Aunt 
Phyllis'  gentle  voice,  and  was  calmed  by  her  sweet 
sympathy.  It  seemed  to  be  a  new  Sylvia,  who  had 
suffered  keenly,  and  now  had  reached  a  point 
where  even  a  slight  annoyance  could  not  be  en- 
dured in  silence.  Her  eyes  were  bright,  her 
cheeks  burning  as  she  struggled  with  the  rusty 
bolt.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  she  did  not 
know  his  name,  nor  had  the  thought  entered  her 
tired  head  that  he  was  not  sure  to  meekly  go 
away,  because  she  ordered  him  to  do  so. 

What  was  wrong  with  that  bolt,  that  it  could 
not  be  moved  in  its  socket?  She  threw  her  weight 
against  the  door,  and  with  a  final  effort,  the  bolt 
shot  back,  and  the  door  opened.  Opened  just  in 
time  to  show  another  remonstrant  already  in  the 
field.  It  was  Aunt  Zilla,  who,  with  a  shawl  over 
her  head,  and  an  umbrella  uplifted,  was  rushing 
along  the  path  toward  the  gate. 


AT  BLOSSOMVILLE  299 

"  Here,  you !  "  she  shouted.  "  Git  away  from 
there !  Go  'long,  will  ye  ?  Git,  I  say  1  " 

"  Ma'am?  "  said  the  prophet,  as  if  he  had  not 
grasped  the  meaning  of  her  excitement. 

"I  say  git  out!  Go  'long!  Don't  ye  know 
what  I  say,  ye  queer  critter?" 

''Ma'am?" 

His  eyes  were  void  of  expression. 

Aunt  Zilla  dropped  the  umbrella,  and  the  two, 
equally  astonished,  stood  staring  at  each  other. 

'  What  are  ye  doin'  there?  "  she  asked,  and  he 
stared  for  a  moment,  then:  "  Diggin'  fer  gold," 
he  said. 

"  Ef  ye're  a  prophet,  ye  ought  ter  be  too  pious 
ter  want  gold,"  was  Aunt  Zilla's  reply,  to  which 
he  responded: 

'  Too  pious  ter  want  gold?  There  ain't  no 
such  pussons." 

"  Wai,  I  declare !  Ye've  sense  'nough  ter  know 
that,  but  I  tell  ye  ter  go  dig  somewhere  else. 
D'ye  hear?" 

"  Ma'am,  yer  lucky  ter  hev  a  prophet  at  yer 
door.  'Tain't  every  one  I  prophesy  fer." 

"  Wai,  all  the  same,  I  won't  hev  ye  proph'syin' 
'round  here!  Quit  now!  I  tell  ye.  Quit!" 
cried  Aunt  Zilla. 

He  turned  quickly,  grasped  the  length  of  calico 


300        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

and  wrapping  it  about  him,  commenced,  in  a  sing- 
song manner,  to  chant:  "  I'm  a  blessin'  at  yer 
gates,  but  —  ye  don't  —  gi'me  honor !  The  time 
is  drawin'  nigh  when  flames  will  envellup  yer 
abode,  an'  like  chaff  'afore  the  wind, —  ye'll  go  up 
in  smoke,  an'  the  fire  er  my  wrath, — " 

"  Clear  out,  'n'  take  yer  wrath  with  ye  !  We've 
had  'nough  er  yer  ridic'lous  notions.  Ye're  the 
fust  prophet  I  ever  heared  of  as  was  draped  in 
caliker.  Take  yer  clothes  off'n  the  fence,  an'  git 
away.  Ye  can't  go  too  fur.  Say!  Be  ye  goin' 
any  time  ter  day,  cause  if  ye  can't  start  'thout  help 
Laddie'll  be  glad  ter  assist  ye." 

At  the  sound  of  his  name,  Laddie,  who  had 
been  curious  as  to  what  it  was  all  about,  squeezed 
through  the  partly  open  door,  and  with  joyous 
barking,  joined  that  other  valiant  protector  of 
the  house. 

At  sight  of  the  dog,  the  prophet  gained  celerity 
in  his  movements.  Laddie  was  too  gentle  to  harm 
any  one,  but  his  sudden  appearance  had  worked  a 
miracle,  for  the  prophet,  hitherto  slow-motioned, 
went  sprinting  down  the  road  at  great  speed. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

VOICES 

TREES,  gaunt  and  leafless,  swaying  against 
a  leaden  sky,  a  lonely  road,  stretching  far 
away  to  where  an  old  bridge  broke  its 
monotonous  line,  deep  furrows  in  the  road  made 
by  heavy  cart-wheels, —  that  was  what  Sylvia  saw 
as  she  stood  looking  from  the  window  in  late  after- 
noon. 

The  bleak  outlook  was  in  keeping  with  her 
thoughts. 

Eight  months  had  passed,  dull,  weary  months, 
unbroken  in  their  dreariness  save  when  Luke  El- 
more,  unwelcome  but  persistent,  paused  in  passing, 
one  idle  errand  or  another  giving  a  meager  excuse 
for  his  call.  At  one  time  he  would  profess  a 
neighborly  interest  in  their  welfare;  at  another  he 
would  inquire  for  Aunt  Zilla's  health,  thus  win- 
ning favor  with  her,  and  causing  her  to  wonder 
at  Sylvia's  lack  of  interest  in  so  genial  a  neigh- 
bor. 

Sometimes  he  boldly  asked  for  her,  when,  if 
301 


302        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

luck  so  favored  her  that  she  happened  not  to  be 
in  sight,  she  left  Aunt  Zilla  to  make  any  excuse 
that  she  chose,  and  escaped  to  her  room,  where 
she  remained  until  she  heard  the  front  door  close, 
and  a  moment  later  was  informed  that  he  had  de- 
parted. 

Still  standing  at  her  chamber  window,  she 
looked  eastward,  along  the  lonely  road. 

She  knew  that  the  sunset  must  be  glowing, 
for  far  up  on  a  distant  hillside  were  windows  all 
aflame.  Like  emblems  of  hope,  they  gleamed  far 
above  the  little  village. 

How  far  away  were  those  bright  windows! 
Was  that  for  which  she  so  earnestly  longed  as 
bright  as  those  flashing  windows,  and  seemingly 
as  distant? 

As  if  in  answer  to  the  questioning  thought,  she 
became  aware  of  something  brightly  shining, 
something  nearer,  and  upon  looking  down  saw 
that  the  thin  ice  filling  the  long  wagon-ruts  had 
caught  the  glimmering  light. 

Months  had  passed,  and  still  her  letter  lay  in 
the  unlocked  drawer  in  Jack  Stanwood's  desk, 
where  it  would  remain  until  his  return.  It  lay 
far  back  in  the  drawer,  covered  by  many  letters 
and  papers  that  had  collected. 


VOICES  303 

"  It  may  be  that  a  letter  from  him  will  come 
to-morrow,"  she  said,  just  as  she  had  told  herself 
countless  times  before.  ;<  It  is  hard  for  him,  and 
for  me,  but  surely  a  letter  must  soon  be  on  its 
way." 

How  still  it  was.  The  wind  that  had  been 
blowing  all  the  afternoon  had  lulled  with  the 
waning  day,  and  peace  seemed  to  have  settled 
over  the  village. 

"  Eight  months,"  she  murmured.  "  One  would 
say  that  the  four  remaining  months  that  I  must 
spend  here  might  seem  but  a  brief  stay  in  com- 
parison, but  the  days  drag  with  leaden  feet,  and 
I  have  worried  over  my  letter  to  Jack  that  still  is 
unanswered  until  I  am  wretched.  Can  it  be  that 
he  went  from  here  so  angry  that  he  will  not  reply 
or  could  Irma's  story  be  true?  In  that  case,  it 
was  simply  lack  of  interest  that  caused  him  to 
ignore  the  letter."  A  dozen  times  Sylvia  had  been 
tempted  to  write  again  on  the  assumption  that  the 
first  letter  had  never  reached  him,  but  pride  re- 
strained her. 

She  was  turning  from  the  window  when  a  sound 
of  hoof-beats  on  the  little  bridge  rang  out  on  the 
stillness.  Yes,  there  was  the  horse  and  rider  com- 
ing toward  "  The  Three  Birches."  He  drew  rein 


304        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

at  the  gate  and,  dismounting,  led  the  horse  into  the 
garden,  closed  the  gate  behind  him  and  then 
walked  up  the  path  to  the  door. 

Sylvia  flung  herself  upon  the  bed,  hiding  her 
face  on  her  folded  arms. 

The  bright  color  had  gone  from  the  sky,  and 
all  objects  were  veiled  in  the  monotone  of  twi- 
light. At  the  first  sound  of  hoof-beats  a  wild 
hope  that  a  message  had  come  from  Jack  had  sent 
the  color  to  her  cricks.  Then,  the  thought  that 
the  message  might  tell  that  he  was  ill  had  blanched 
her  lips.  It  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  the  bold 
rider  was  Elmore. 

As  he  strode  up  the  path,  his  identity  was  dis- 
closed and  rebellion  filled  her  heart.  It  made  the 
enforced  separation  from  Jack  the  harder  to  bear 
that  this  man  whom  she  detested  was  forever  ap- 
pearing at  her  door. 

"Sylvia!" 

The  girl  did  not  answer,  nor  did  she  lift  her 
head  from  her  folded  arms.  Again  Aunt  Zilla 
called.  Sylvia  did  not  stir.  She  heard  Aunt  Zilla 
return  along  the  hall  to  the  parlor. 

"  She's  been  feelin'  tired.  Maybe  she's  layin' 
down,"  she  said. 

As  if  he  had  heard  the  excuse,  and  was  anxious 
for  her  welfare,  Laddie  came  softly  up-stairs,  and, 


VOICES  305 

across  the  room  to  where  she  lay.  She  had 
dropped  an  arm  over  the  bedside,  and  into  her 
hand  he  thrust  his  cold  muzzle. 

'  You're  a  comfort,  Laddie,"  she  whispered, 
and  the  dog  felt  that  he  had  done  the  right  thing. 
Aunt  Zilla  tried  her  best  to  be  entertaining,  but 
Luke  Elmore,  half  suspecting  that  Sylvia  might 
have  come  down  to  the  living-room  if  she  would, 
made  a  brief  call,  and  mounting  his  horse,  rode 
off  up  the  road,  displeased,  but  none  the  less  de- 
termined. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  village  was  agog  at 
the  improvements  on  the  Elmore  place. 

"  He's  building  great  piazzas!  "  said  one. 

"  There's  a  bay-winder  on  the  side  next  the 
dinin'-room,"  said  another. 

"  He's  puttin'  a  ell  onter  the  hind  part  er  the 
house,"  declared  a  third. 

"  He's  paintin'  the  place,  inside  an'  out,  an'  I 
says  ter  him,  says  I;  '  Coin'  ter  git  married  when 
the  repairs  is  did?'  an'  says  he:  'Shouldn't 
wonder.'  ' 

"  S'pose  it's  goin'  ter  be  Miss  Durant?  I 
didn't  dare  ter  ax  him,"  said  one  old  fellow. 

'  Then  fer  massy  sakes  don't  ask  me,"  his 
neighbor  responded,  "  fer  ef  Luke  himself  ain't 
sure  'bout  it,  how'd  I  know?  " 


306        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Oh,  he  knows,  but  he  ain't  tellin',"  his  friend 
remarked  wisely. 

The  greater  number  of  the  inhabitants  believed 
that  Luke  Elmore  was  the  accepted  suitor  at  "  The 
Three  Birches."  "  Ain't  Luke  the  biggest  tax- 
payer in  Blossomville?  "  "Ain't  Luke's  house 
'nough  sight  finer  than  that  ol'  place  where  she 
hangs  aout  now?  "  These  were  the  questions  that 
they  asked  among  themselves,  invariably  winding 
up  with :  "  An'  wouldn't  any  gal  in  this  'ere  place 
jump  at  the  chance?  " 

These  whisperings  did  not  reach  Sylvia. 

During  the  winter  months  she  had  restricted  her 
walks  to  the  wood-road,  rather  than  the  road  that 
was  traversed  by  every  one  whose  objective  point 
was  the  store.  Thus  she  avoided  the  gossips. 

The  "  voices  "  of  the  place  were  rarely  silent, 
however,  and  there  was  another  theme  that  never 
failed  to  interest,  and  that  was  "  The  Three 
Birches." 

When  the  superstitious  tales  regarding  it  had 
been  retold,  old  Mrs.  Durant's  peculiarities  de- 
scribed, Aunt  Zilla  and  Sylvia  spoken  of,  and  the 
"  noises  "  that  were  said  to  emanate  from  there 
imitated,  then  indeed  was  the  time  for  some  one 
to  mention  the  locked  room,  and  tongues  would 
wag  harder  than  before.  Men,  women,  and  chil- 


VOICES  307 

dren  talked  of  that  room,  and  one  day  Dorcas 
Dale  mentioned  it  to  Ezry  Wiley. 

"  Me'n'  my  sister  is  jest  wild  ter  know  what's 
hid  in  it!  "  she  said,  and  with  a  laugh  Ezry  re- 
sponded : 

"  S'pos'n  when  they  do  open  it,  tain't  hidin' 
nothin'  'tall,  then  what'll  ye  say?" 

"  I'll  say  'twas  meant  ter  tant'fize  us  fer 
nothin' !  "  cried  Dorcas. 

'  The  idee!  A  lockin',  an'  boltin'  an'  nailin' 
up  a  room  full  o'  nothin'  tall!  But  'tain't  so, 
Ezry,  I  know  'tain't.  Ye  can't  make  me  b'lieve 
that  a  woman,  as  sens'ble  as  old  Mis'  Durant, 
went  an'  had  that  room  so  ev'lastin'  secure  ef  there 
wa'n't  a  reason  fer  it,  an'  the  hull  o'  Blossomville 
is  wild  with  cur'osty  ter  know  what's  hid  there." 

'  Wild,  be  ye?  "  Ezry  said,  with  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

'  Well,  I  guess  ye'll  hev  time  ter  git  tame  'fore 
ye  find  out.  Miss  Sylvia  hain't  disturbed  it  yet." 

'  Wai,  beats  me  how  she  stands  it.  That  shet 
door  would  gim  me  fits!  "  flashed  Dorcas. 

'  You  'n'  her  is  some  different,"  Ezra  said, 
dryly,  and  Dorcas  departed,  in  a  huff. 

It  was  provoking  that  an  attempt  to  arouse 
Ezra's  curiosity  was  always  wasted  effort. 

The  closed  door  had  annoyed  Sylvia  from  the 


3o8         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

first.  If  it  had  simply  been  locked,  she  would 
have  at  once  opened  it  to  learn  if  aught  of  value 
lay  there.  That  it  was  not  only  locked  and  bolted, 
but  also  nailed,  seemed  strange,  and  daily  her 
dread  to  look  within  increased,  until  she  now  dis- 
liked even  to  pass  the  door.  Once  during  a  storm 
she  was  walking  along  the  hall,  Laddie  at  her 
heels,  when,  as  they  neared  the  closed  door,  a 
strange  sound  seemed  to  come  from  the  room  be- 
hind it. 

"  That  noise  must  have  been  caused  by  some- 
thing outside,"  she  whispered,  but  even  as  she 
spoke  it  was  repeated,  and  Laddie,  putting  his 
nose  close  to  the  sill,  sniffed  a  second  and  then  re- 
treated, uttering  a  low  growl.  His  tail  was  be- 
tween his  legs,  his  hair  erect  upon  his  spine,  and  as 
he  edged  away,  he  kept  an  eye  upon  the  door  as 
if  fearing  that  it  might  open. 

This  was  the  third  time  that  Sylvia  had  felt  that 
she  had  reached  the  limit  of  endurance ;  yet,  as  on 
the  two  previous  occasions,  she  had  schooled  her- 
self to  remain. 

Of  the  strange  sound  and  of  the  dog's  actions 
she  said  nothing  to  Aunt  Zilla.  That  good 
woman  was  surely  as  nervous  as  it  was  well  for 
her  to  be  without  the  aid  of  a  weird  story  to  in- 
crease her  terror. 


VOICES  309 

"  If  only  I  can  have  strength  to  hold  out  'til 
the  day  when  I  can  leave  this  terrible  old  house, 
never  to  return!"  Sylvia  said  each  night  that 
marked  one  more  day  completed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
FOUR  MONTHS'  ABSENCE 

IN  desperate  need  of  a  change,  Stanwood  had 
agreed  to  take  the  business  trip  that  for 
months  would  keep  him  away  from  the 
office.  It  seemed  a  means  of  escape  from 
scrutiny.  He  could  not  be  himself.  Day  after 
day,  as  if  from  force  of  habit,  he  did  the  work 
that  lay  before  him,  but  he  knew  that  his  manner 
was  changed,  and  he  believed  that  already  his  un- 
usual reserve  had  been  noticed,  perhaps  had  been 
subject  of  comment  among  those  about  him. 

In  the  months  that  followed  his  departure,  his 
loneliness  increased.  During  business  hours  it 
was  surely  better  than  at  the  office.  Those  with 
whom  he  had  dealings  were  strangers  who  could 
not  know  what  a  buoyant  happy  spirit  had  been 
his,  and  thus  could  make  no  comparison.  When 
evening  came,  however,  it  brought  with  it  a  sense 
of  desolation  that  would  not  down. 

He  missed  Donald  Trefton. 

"  And  yet  Trefton  had  taken  to  watching  me, 
310 


FOUR  MONTHS'  ABSENCE     311 

confound  him !  "  growled  Jack.  One  especially 
wretched  evening,  he  betook  himself  to  a  popular 
theater,  and  endured  the  play  until,  in  the  last 
act,  the  hero  and  heroine  were  reunited,  when  he 
snatched  his  hat  and  rushed  from  the  auditorium, 
followed  by  curious  eyes. 

"  Always  comes  out  right  in  a  play !  "  he  mut- 
tered, adding:  "  I  was  a  fool  to  go!" 

The  trip  was  a  success,  from  a  business  stand- 
point, and  that  was  what  old  Marcus  Stanwood 
wanted. 

That  deal  had  meant  everything  to  him, 
and  Jack  had  turned  it.  He  had  exceeded  the 
old  banker's  wildest  dream.  To  have  accom- 
plished greater  results  than  Marcus  Stanwood  de- 
manded was  indeed  a  miracle,  and  at  any  other 
time  Jack  would  have  been  flushed  with  his  suc- 
cess. Now,  without  Sylvia  to  tell  it  to,  it  seemed 
an  empty  thing,  and  upon  his  return,  he  received 
his  uncle's  commendation  with  courtesy,  but  with- 
out apparent  interest. 

'  Your  salary  will  again  be  increased,  Jack, 
commencing  this  month,  not  for  any  foolish  af- 
fection upon  my  part,  but  because  you've  proved 
yourself  valuable  to  me.  Good  morning.  I'm 
busy,"  the  older  man  concluded,  and  turned  to  the 
mail  that  littered  his  desk. 


312         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Thus  abruptly  dismissed,  Jack  left  the  private 
office  and  went  to  his  own  desk. 

There  had  been  times  during  his  absence  when 
he  had  blamed  himself  for  not  asking  Sylvia  if 
that  which  Irma  had  told  were  true. 

He  had  asked  himself  why  he  had  believed  it 
implicitly,  but  always,  as  if  in  answer,  the  thought 
had  come  to  him: 

"  But  Sylvia  had  refused  to  listen  to  my  plead- 
ing, seeming  to  prefer  that  desolate,  lonely  house 
to  a  home  with  me !  Strange  that  Sylvia,  my 
Sylvia,  should  prove  to  be  so  grasping  that  that 
old  rookery  and  possibly  a  few  hundred  dollars 
could  keep  her  apart  from  me  for  a  year  and  a 
day!" 

Then:  "It  can't  be!  She  never  was  grasp- 
ing. That  was  but  a  thin  excuse  to  keep  me,  for 
a  time,  ignorant  of  her  regard  for  one  whom  she 
had  met  there  in  that  little  village.  She  believed 
that  it  would  be  a  long  time  before  I  could  '  make 
good,'  and  that  man  held  his  fortune  already  in 
his  grasp." 

Irma  had  even  seen  the  house.  She,  a  stranger 
in  the  place,  never  would  have  found  it.  It  was 
only  too  evident  that  Sylvia,  in  her  new-found 
happiness,  had  shown  it  to  her. 

And  yet,  as  he  opened  the  drawer,  and  took 


FOUR  MONTHS'  ABSENCE     313 

from  it  the  mass  of  mail  matter  that  had  collected, 
he  knew  that  in  his  heart  was  a  hope,  faint,  yet 
surely  burning,  that  somewhere  in  the  pile  would 
be  an  envelope  with  the  address  in  the  dear,  fa- 
miliar hand. 

Much  advertising  matter,  countless  invitations 
to  social  functions,  a  few  personal  letters  of  no 
especial  interest,  these  were  what  he  found.  He 
tried  to  tell  himself  that  he  had  expected  nothing, 
had  hoped  for  nothing,  but  he  could  not  deceive 
himself. 

He  had  hoped;  ay,  he  had  hoped  against  hope ! 

Why  had  fate,  with  devilish  cunning,  arranged 
that  papers  and  envelopes,  thrust  hastily  into  that 
drawer,  should  have  crowded  Sylvia's  letter;  the 
second,  more  deeply  appealing  than  the  first,  over 
the  edge  of  the  drawer,  and  down  behind,  where, 
covered  with  dust,  they  lay,  longed  for,  yet  undis- 
covered? 


CHAPTER  XL 

ON  THE   BRIDGE 

THE  inhabitants  of  small  villages  are  enor- 
mously interested  in  the  affairs  of  their 
neighbors,  and  the  residents  of  Blossom- 
ville  were  no  exception  to  the  rule.  Many  of  the 
villagers  were  far  from  reticent,  and  their  strong- 
est interest  invariably  centered  around  any  wight 
who  chose  to  keep  at  least  a  part  of  his  business  to 
himself. 

Like  ferrets  they  worked,  until  they  had 
obtained  facts  which  he  least  wished  them  to 
know. 

With  these  items  as  a  nucleus,  the  busybodies, 
by  adding  here  a  bit  and  there  a  bit,  could  manu- 
facture quite  a  tale,  until  the  first  relater  of  the 
story  would  never  have  recognized  it,  as  told  by 
the  last. 

When  "  chores  "  were  done,  and  time  dragged 
heavily,  the  "  store  "  was  an  ideal  market-place 
where  a  stock  of  news  could  be  unloaded,  with  the 
assurance  that  its  distribution  would  be  immediate. 

314 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  315 

"  First  come,  first  served,"  was  the  invariable 
rule,  so  that  any  one  in  need  of  a  new  topic  for 
discussion  rushed  to  the  store,  and  rarely  did  it 
fail  him. 

"  Most  allus  somethin'*in  the  wind,"  remarked 
Nat  Gates,  concluding  brilliantly,  "  'n'  'f  there 
ain't,  there's  somethin'  else!" 

"  This  's  been  a  awful  dull  day,"  remarked  Nat 
one  afternoon.  "  Been  tremenjous  dull,  I  do 
vum  it  has !  " 

He  was  alone  in  the  store,  and  the  silence  irri- 
tated him. 

"  I've  actooally  begun  ter  talk  ter  myself,  all 
because  o'  nobody  comin'  in." 

He  felt  himself  ill-used. 

"  Only  had  two  critters  in  ter  trade  with  an' 
fine  cust'mers  they  was!"  he  growled.  "One 
on  'em  asked  fer  a  ounce  o'  caraway  seed,  'n'  when 
I'd  jest  got  it  keerfully  weighed,  he  said :  *  Guess 
ye  better  make  it  a  half  a  ounce.  That'll  be 
plenty.'  *  Mebbe  even  that'll  be  a  overdose,'  says 
I,  but  Lor' !  He  didn't  ketch  my  meanin'. 
'  'Tain't  fer  a  dose,'  says  he.  '  My  oF  woman 
wants  'em  fer  cookies.' 

'  T'other  critter  was  a  woman  what  lives  on 
the  far  side  o'  Blossomville.  I  fergit  her  name, 
but  she's  so  ev'lastin'  tall  an'  skinny  I  remember 


3i6        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

her.  She  come  prancin'  in,  an'  she  screeched: 
'  Hev  ye  some  fus'-class  m'lasses?  '  '  I  hev,'  says 
I.  'Which  kind  d'ye  want?  New  Orleens,  or 
Porto  Rica?'  'New  'leens!'  she  said,  tart-like. 
'  Lemme  taste  it? '  '  Sure,'  says  I,  'n'  I  took  V 
dipped  a  skewer  inter  the  bar'l,  an'  let  her  take  a 
lick. 

"  She  tasted  it,  smacked  her  lips,  'n'  looked  sort 
o'  wise.  '  Want  a  pint,  quart,  or  a  gallon  in  a 
jug?  I  jest  filled  that  there  stone  jug  'bout  five 
minutes  ago.'  '  Don't  want  none  'tall,'  she  said, 
lookin'  clean  through  me.  '  I'm  jest  here  ter  set- 
tle a  bet.  My  neighbor,  Mis'  Winton,  she  that 
was  Abigail  Scroggs,  told  me  I'd  orter  use  New 
'leens,  'cause  it  was  so  much  nicer  than  Port' 
Rica,  an'  she  said  one  taste  would  convince  me, 
an'  't  has.  'Tain't  no  better,  an'  knew  'twouldn't 
be; '  an'  off  she  went.  Could  ye  beat  that?  " 

"  Beat  what?  "  came  an  answering  voice,  and 
Nat's  gloom  vanished  as  a  wiry  figure  entered. 
Josh  Lumley  had  a  budget  of  news  to  deliver,  and 
Nat  forgot  to  grumble  as  he  sat  listening  to  the 
various  items  that  Josh  had  collected.  Josh  Lum- 
ley occupied  his  days  in  gathering  news,  and  be- 
rating Fate.  He  habitually  characterized  him- 
self as  unlucky,  but  what  effort  had  he  ever  made 
to  lure  Fortune  to  his  side,  or  win  her  smile? 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  317 

Who  would  have  blamed  her  had  she  laughed  in 
derision? 

With  his  chair  tilted  against  the  wall,  he  now 
sat  opposite  Nat,  reeling  off  the  news  that  he  had 
come  to  tell.  The  items  were  of  little  interest  to 
any  save  those  who  were  acquainted  with  the  per- 
sons described,  and  even  Nat,  who  knew  them  all, 
was  becoming  rather  bored,  when  sounds  sugges- 
tive of  excitement  brought  both  men  to  their  feet, 
and  they  made  a  rush  for  the  door. 

A  comical  scene  was  being  enacted,  and  it  surely 
was  an  "  all-star  cast."  That  which  the  village 
called  its  "  Square,"  was,  in  reality,  a  triangle. 

Now,  as  its  central  ornament,  upon  an  inverted 
soap  box  for  a  pedestal,  posed  the  "  prophet," 
and,  judging  from  his  attitude,  and  gestures,  a  fit 
of  religious  fervor  had  seized  him  with  extreme 
violence. 

Advancing  rapidly  was  an  angular  figure,  one 
hand  firmly  grasping  an  umbrella,  the  other  hold- 
ing an  excited  dog  by  the  leash.  It  was  Mrs. 
Drusilla  Bond  and  Laddie. 

"Woman,  ye  daren't  come  no  farther!" 
shouted  the  prophet,  at  the  same  time  pointing  a 
grimy  finger  toward  her. 

14  What  are  ye  thinkin'  of?  "  cried  Aunt  Zilla. 
"  Ye  don't  own  the  Square !  " 


3i8         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"Wow!"  remarked  Laddie,  tugging  at  the 
leash. 

"  Hail-stones  '11  hit  ye !  Clouds  er  smoke  '11  en- 
wellop  ye !  Flames  '11  ketch  yer  raiment,  an'  ye'll 
be  ev'lastin'ly  scorched!  The  airth'll  open  ter 
swaller  ye,  an'  the  — " 

A  saucy  breeze  blew  his  red  calico  mantle  over 
his  head,  shutting  off  his  stream  of  prophecy  for  a 
moment.  Angrily  he  swept  it  aside. 

"  Sodom  an'  Gomor  — " 

"  Oh,  be  still,  ye  ol'  nuisance!  "  Aunt  Zilla  ex- 
claimed. "  A  body  can't  go  nowheres  'thout 
seein'  ye,  an'  hearin'  ye  a-spoutin' !  Hi,  Laddie ! 
Stay  with  me,  that's  a  good  dog." 

But  Laddie  saw  no  charm  in  being  good. 

His  low  and  persistent  growl  was  varied  by 
sharp,  angry  barks.  He  detested  the  prophet, 
and  while  he  had  not  the  least  idea  of  harming 
him,  he  longed  to  rush  at  him  for  the  sheer  fun  of 
scaring  him. 

Once  he  had  done  that,  and  what  joy  it  had  been 
to  chase  the  fleeing  prophet! 

He  tugged  desperately  at  the  leash. 

"  The  airth  will  open  ter  swaller  yc,  the  crack 
o'  doom  shall  — " 

The  leash  slipped  from  Aunt  Zilla's  grasp,  and 
the  prophet  tore  along  the  road,  his  riotously  gay 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  319 

mantle  floating  behind  him,  Laddie,  occasionally 
varying  his  course  by  springing  upward  in  a  wild 
attempt  to  snatch  the  fluttering  calico. 

"  Case  o'  prophet  an'  loss,  ain't  it?  "  Nat  Gates 
said,  with  a  laugh  at  his  own  joke.  "  Th'  ol' 
feller's  a  prophet,  or  he  thinks  he  is,  an'  I  guess 
ye  lost  yer  dog,  leastways,  fer  a  spell." 

"I  declare,  I've  forgot  what  I  come  fer!" 
Aunt  Zilla  said,  leaning  on  her  umbrella,  and  look- 
ing down  at  her  shoe,  as  she  endeavored  to  recall 
the  errand  that  had  sent  her  forth. 

"  Dear,  dear!  I  wish  Laddie'd  come  back!  " 
she  said,  looking  anxiously  down  the  road. 

"  Wonder  how  fur  he'll  chase  the  ol'  feller  'fore 
he  remembers  ye're  a-waitin'  fer  him?"  Josh 
Lumley  remarked. 

Thrusting  two  fingers  into  his  mouth  he  gave 
an  ear-splitting  whistle.  They  looked  down  the 
road  but  no  Laddie  was  in  sight. 

"  Come  in,  Mis'  Bond,"  said  Nat. 

"  Ye  may's  well  wait  inside  where  it's  warm  as 
out  here.  The  dog'll  show  up  after  a  spell,  an' 
whilst  ye're  in  the  store,  ye  kin  sort'er  gaze  'round 
an'  see  'f  ye  see  what  'twas  ye  wanted.  That's 
a  good  way  ter  rec'lect  yer  errand." 

The  sky  was  overcast,  and  there  was  dampness 
in  the  air  that  made  the  suggestion  of  warmth 


320        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

agreeable,  and  Aunt  Zilla  entered  the  little  store, 
and,  as  Nat  had  suggested,  "  gazed  'round,"  but 
nothing  that  she  saw  suggested  her  errand. 

"  'Sno  use,"  she  said,  finally,  "  I  don't  see  any- 
thing that  I  ever  wanted,  so  there's  nothin'  fer  't 
but  ter  go  home,  an'  see  what  'twas  I  started  out 
fer,  an'  come  back  ter-morrer,  'n'  git  it.  I  do 
declare,  I  wish  the  ol'  prophesyin'  feller  had  been 
further,  fer  'twas  jest  his  '  whoopin'  it  up  '  that 
made  me  fergit  my  errand." 

A  tiny  stream  ran  through  Blossomville,  a  nar- 
row stream  that  in  an  undulating  line  wriggled  its 
way  across  the  meadows  through  level,  sunlit 
fields  and  woodland  ways.  A  mischievous  little 
stream  it  was,  for  after  boldly  flashing  in  the  sun- 
light, it  crept  along  under  overhanging  alders, 
laughing,  and  gurgling  because  for  the  moment 
unseen;  then,  as  if  in  exultation,  it  would  leap  for- 
ward, bounding  over  the  stones  that  appeared  near 
the  surface,  churning  its  waters  into  foam  that 
floated  away  under  the  ferns  and  brakes  that  lined 
its  borders. 

When  winter  came  its  every  curve  lay  revealed, 
for  the  ferns  were  gone,  and  the  alders  leafless. 
One  hiding  place  remained,  and  that  was  the  little 
bridge,  shabby  and  weather-beaten.  All  through 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  321 

the  cold  weather  the  brook  had  been  a  prisoner, 
but  now  spring  had  come,  its  fetters  were  gone, 
and  mad  with  delight  it  bounded  along,  ran  under 
the  bridge,  out  again,  prancing,  prattling  of  its  re- 
gained freedom. 

The  bridge  was  on  a  short  road  that  led  off 
from  the  main  road  and  ended, —  nowhere  in 
particular.  Sometime  in  the  vague  past,  there  had 
existed  a  plan  on  which  a  road  as  long  and  as  wide 
as  the  main  road  was  to  be  laid  out  so  as  to  run 
parallel  to  it,  but  it  had  yet  to  be  accomplished, 
and  the  little  road  ended  ignominiously  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  field. 

The  bridge  was  fairly  well  built,  and  its  rustic 
railings  gave  it  a  certain  picturesque  beauty. 

Sylvia,  finding  the  house  unbearably  lonely,  took 
her  hat  and  coat  from  the  hall,  and  went  out. 
The  forest  road  looked  dismal,  and  forbidding, 
the  main  road  led  past  the  Wiley  house,  and  while 
those  who  dwelt  there  had  been  very  kind  to  her, 
she  felt  that  she  was  not  in  the  mood  for  a  chat. 
How  different  she  was  from  the  Sylvia  Durant 
who,  a  year  ago,  had  been  so  bright,  so  light- 
hearted,  so  full  of  life,  drinking  in  the  pleasures 
that  seemed  made  for  her  especial  delight. 

She  was  well,  surely,  she  told  herself,  but  she 
was  aware  of  a  languor,  a  weariness  that  was  new, 


322        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

and  strange,  and  that  made  slight  effort  seem  la- 
borious. 

Her  coloring  had  been  exquisite,  but  the  soft 
pink  had  left  her  cheek,  and  her  fine  eyes  were 
sad  and  shadowy. 

The  strain  of  the  long,  dreary  months  at  "  The 
Three  Birches,"  had  told  upon  her,  but  harder 
than  all  else  had  been  Jack's  silence.  She  had 
hoped  against  hope,  telling  herself  that,  even 
though  delayed,  a  letter  would  surely  come. 

She  knew  nothing  of  his  absence  from  the  city, 
nor  did  she  dream  that  both  letters  that  she  had 
worded  with  such  care  were,  by  Fate's  jugglery, 
hidden  from  sight,  inside  the  desk. 

She  had  turned  into  the  side  road,  and  had 
walked  slowly  along  until  she  reached  the  brook. 
Now,  on  the  bridge  she  stood,  leaning  upon  the 
railing,  and  looking  down  into  the  clear  stream 
below. 

She  was  thinking,  thinking. 

How  clear  was  the  little  stream,  how  gayly  it 
babbled  on  its  way.  On  the  opposite  bank  was  a 
thicket  of  alders,  and  closely  interwoven  with  the 
alders  was  a  mass  of  underbrush,  making  an  im- 
penetrable hedge  that  was  darkly  mirrored  in  the 
stream. 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  323 

How  bravely  she  had  come  to  the  little  village 
the  first  of  June,  and  although  the  time  that  she 
must  spend  there  had  seemed  almost  endless  to 
look  forward  to,  yet  had  she  felt  fairly  cheerful, 
because  of  the  prize  that  she  was  to  attain,  aye, 
to  win  for  his  sake ! 

'  Who  would  have  said  that  Jack,  my  Jack, 
could  feel  so  hard,  so  cold  that  both  my  letters, 
lovingly  written,  would  fail  to  move  him,  or  to 
win  from  him  one  comforting  word  for  me?  "  she 
whispered,  and  the  bubbles,  large  and  small,  sailed 
complacently  toward  the  little  bridge  and  under  it, 
as  placidly  as  if  all  the  world  were  as  serene  as 
the  surface  of  the  brook. 

She  saw  the  dark  reflection  of  the  thicket  on  the 
opposite  bank;  next  a  bit  of  the  old  bridge  caught 
her  attention  as  its  image  lay  repeated  in  the  clear 
depths  below. 

The  breeze  stirred  the  surface,  and  the  shadow 
bridge  wavered,  then  steadied  itself,  and  when 
again  the  water  became  placid,  she  saw,  for  the 
first  time,  a  thoughtful  face  looking  down  at  her. 
The  eyes  looked  upward  into  her  own  eyes,  and 
their  sadness  startled  her. 

"  Do  I  look  like  that?  "  she  whispered. 

Daily  her  mirror  had  told  the  same  story,  but  in 


324         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

some  way  the  eyes  that  looked  up  from  the  stream 
were  more  compelling,  and  she  knew  that  nature's 
mirror  spoke  the  truth. 

"  I  must  rouse  myself,"  she  thought,  "  I  must 
not  look  like  that  when  Jack  comes,  for  oh,  he 
must  come !  He  will  not  always  be  angry.  I 
must  tell  myself  that  he  will  come.  How  else  can 
I  regain  the  courage  and  cheer  that  has  always 
been  mine?  " 

A  hand  upon  her  arm  made  her  start,  and  as 
she  looked  up  into  Luke  Elmore's  eyes,  an  ex- 
pression of  annoyance  passed  over  her  face,  mak- 
ing her  eyes  darker,  and  her  cheeks  paler  than 
before. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you,"  he  said. 

"  I  was  foolish  to  be  so  alarmed,  but  I  was 
thinking,"  she  said,  "  and  my  thoughts  had  trav- 
eled fast  and  far.  In  my  heart,  I  was  miles  away 
from  Blossomville  when  you  arrived.  I'd  not 
even  heard  your  step." 

"  I  was  riding  along  the  main  road,  when  I  saw 
a  slender  figure  on  the  bridge.  I  left  my  horse 
in  the  little  grove,  made  his  bridle  fast  to  a  stout 
limb,  and  then  walked  over  here  to  see,  and  talk 
with  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  rude,"  she  said,  "  but  you 
would  not  find  me  interesting  this  afternoon.  I 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  325 

am  very  tired.  Really  I  can  not  talk,  much  less 
be  entertaining." 

A  man  of  a  finer  type  would  have  realized  that 
the  girl  was  not  only  weary,  as  she  had  said,  but 
that  she  was  suffering  anxiety  over  something 
which  concerned  herself  or  her  own  affairs,  and 
after  a  few  kindly  words,  would  have  moved  on, 
knowing  that  to  remain  would  be  annoying. 

No  such  merciful  thought  flitted  through  the 
doughty  Squire's  brain.  Rather  it  seemed  to  him 
that  if  she  were  tired,  she  would  be  the  more 
passive,  and  surely  if  she  were  too  weary  to  talk, 
then  was  it  indeed  a  propitious  time  in  which  to 
say  all  that  was  in  his  heart,  when  she  would  have 
only  to  listen. 

It  required  little  effort  to  listen,  he  thought. 
His  first  remark  was  a  blunder. 

"  I  saw  you  down  here  on  the  bridge,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  thought  you  looked  rather  lonely.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  two  figures  would  look  better 
on  this  bridge  than  one." 

Sylvia,  still  leaning  on  the  railing,  looked  down 
into  the  water,  making  no  reply. 

"  Is  the  old  house  awfully  lonely,  or  do  you 
get  used  to  it?  " 

"  I  shall  never  get  used  to  it,"  she  said  vehe- 
mently. 


326        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Then  remember,  you  don't  have  to  stay  In  it," 
he  said  in  bold  insinuation,  that,  however,  she  did 
not  notice.  He  was  talking  to  ears  that  gave 
little  heed  to  what  he  was  saying. 

"  I've  been  adding  extra  rooms,  building  an  ell 
at  the  rear  of  my  house,"  he  added  by  way  of 
explanation. 

Sylvia  still  looked  down  into  the  little  brook. 
The  Squire  always  bored  her,  and  she  would 
gladly  have  turned  homeward,  but  for  the  thought 
that  he  would  go  with  her;  and  then,  oh,  how  long 
he  would  remain,  talking,  talking.  The  twilight 
would  come  earlier  on  this  cloudy  day. 

Would  he  ever  go  ?  Why  could  he  not  see  that 
he  wearied  her?  Why  was  he  telling  her  so 
minutely  of  every  improvement  that  had  been 
added  to  his  home? 

Every  one  knew  that  Elmore  dearly  loved  to 
boast,  but  surely  at  the  store  he  could  find  a  group 
of  men  who  would  be  glad  to  listen. 

" —  and  piazzas  back  and  front,  and  bay  win- 
dows in  the  parlor,  and  the  dining-room;  and  as 
soon  as  the  outside  work  is  done,  I  shall  paper 
every  room,  and  I  shall  paint  inside  and  out.  Oh, 
I've  spared  no  expense,  I  never  do,  and  when  it 
comes  to  the  paper,  I  want  you  to  choose  it." 

At  last  he  had  arrested  her  attention. 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  327 

"  You  wish  me  to  choose  paper  for  your  house? 
Why  should  I  ?  "  she  asked,  drawing  back  and 
looking  directly  into  his  eyes. 

How  cold,  yet  how  lovely  she  was.  He  had 
wished  to  arouse  her,  had  wished  that  she  would 
look  at  him,  but  now  that  her  clear  eyes  were 
steadily  regarding  him,  he,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  felt  abashed. 

All  through  the  long  months  she  had  eluded 
him  whenever  it  was  possible  to  do  so,  and  when 
luck  so  favored  him  that  they  met,  she  had  ignored 
his  compliments,  and  had,  in  every  way,  endeav- 
ored to  prevent  a  lessening  of  the  distance  that 
existed  between  them.  She  had  avoided  him. 
Now  she  compelled  him  to  speak. 

Of  what  use  longer  to  parry? 

Again  she  spoke,  and  her  voice  was  as  cold  as 
the  little  brook  below. 

"  Why,  tell  me,  should  I  choose  anything  for 
your  home  ?  " 

"  You  know  —  you  must  know  that  I  have 
learned  to  care  for  you.  You've  known,  a  dozen 
times,  that  I've  been  on  the  verge  of  telling  you 
this.  You've  avoided,  yes,  almost  shunned 
me,  but  that  is  because  you  are  modest  and  re- 
served." 

He  saw  the  delicate  color  coming  to  her  pale 


328         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

cheeks,  and,  egotist  that  he  was,  believed  it  to  be 
a  token  of  delight. 

"  You  must  have  known  what  all  this  prepara- 
tion at  my  house  meant.  It  was  for  you,  Sylvia, 
for  you !  I  knew  I'd  win  you.  I've  accomplished 
everything  I've  ever  attempted!  I'm  the  largest 
taxpayer  in  these  parts.  I've  a  fine  home,  and 
when  you  are  the  mistress  of  a  good  home  like 
mine,  you'll  look  back  to  '  The  Three  Birches  ' 
and  wonder  how  you  ever — " 

"Stop/" 

He  had  gradually  been  moving  nearer,  but  at 
her  sharp  cry,  he  drew  back.  Even  then  he  did 
not  understand. 

He  wondered  that  the  color  that  a  few  moments 
earlier  had  flushed  her  cheeks,  had  vanished,  leav- 
ing her  paler  than  before.  She  might  have  been 
carved  from  ivory,  but  for  her  flashing  eyes. 

"  Do  you  think,  for  a  moment,  that  I  am  flat- 
tered by  your  favor?  Do  you  think  I  ever  gave 
a  moment's  serious  thought  to  you,  or  was  in  the 
least  degree  interested  in  what  you  did,  or  did  not 
possess?  Do  you  imagine  that  the  old  Durant 
house  gives  me  a  setting  such  as  I  am  accustomed 
to,  and  for  that  reason  I  shall  be  glad  to  accept 
the  home  that  you  offer  me  ? 

'  There  is  one  priceless  boon  that  must  be  mine, 


ON  THE  BRIDGE  329 

when  I  have  a  new,  and  happier  home  then  that 
which  I  now  call  '  home,'  and  that  is  love,  great- 
est and  dearest  of  all  possessions.  No  place  on 
earth,  were  it  a  palace,  could  be  a  home  to  me, 
with  love  a  stranger." 

"  But  I  love  you,  Sylvia!" 

In  his  desire  to  boast,  he  had  forgotten  to  men- 
tion that.  She  turned  from  him  with  loathing. 
His  big  face,  his  bulky  form,  his  voice,  loud  and 
strident,  all  were  hateful  to  her. 

She  had  disliked  him  from  the  first  day  that  she 
had  seen  him,  when  at  the  little  gate  he  had  drawn 
rein  and  talked  with  her,  as  she  sat  on  the  porch 
with  Laddie  at  her  side. 

;'  I  love  you,  Sylvia.     Couldn't  you  learn  — " 

u  Don't,"  she  cried,  then  as  if  with  a  new 
thought,  she  leaned  toward  him. 

"  Never  speak  of  this  again,"  she  said,  "  Let 
it  forever  drop." 

Turning,  she  left  the  bridge  and  walking  swiftly 
to  the  main  road,  was  just  in  time  to  meet  Aunt 
Zilla. 

A  sense  of  protection,  of  relief,  came  over 
her,  and  she  walked  along  beside  her,  hardly  hear- 
ing the  description  of  this  second  time  that  Lad- 
die had  put  the  prophet  to  flight. 

They  had  reached  the  gate  before  it  occurred  to 


330         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Aunt  Zilla  that  Sylvia  had  been  unusually  quiet. 
She  turned  squarely  around  and  looked  at  her. 
She  was  about  to  speak  when  a  series  of  short, 
sharp  barks  caused  them  to  look  back  along  the 
road.  Tearing  ahead  at  top  speed  was  Laddie,  a 
length  of  torn  and  bedraggled  calico  flying  be- 
hind him.  At  intervals  he  stopped  to  give  it  a 
violent  shake ;  then  on  toward  home  he  sped,  bark- 
ing with  delight  at  this  new  and  highly  delightful 
toy. 

Just  before  reaching  them  he  was  seized  with 
a  desire  to  give  the  thing  a  thorough  shaking,  and 
not  until  he  had  torn  it  to  shreds  could  he  be  in- 
duced to  enter  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

WHEN    HEAVEN    SEEMED   NEAR 

ALL  day  the  clouds,  leaden  and  lowering,  had 
obscured  the  sun,  and  twilight  had  come 
early  to  the  little  village. 

Sylvia  drew  the  curtains,  and  lighted  the  great 
lamp  in  the  living-room  to  shut  out  the  gloom,  and 
to  give  at  least  an  appearance  of  cheer.  The 
walls  with  their  dark  crimson  paper,  and  the  rug 
with  the  same  coloring,  caught  the  light  and 
glowed,  as  if  to  gladden  the  occupants  of  the  old 
house.  Walls  and  rug  were  shabby,  but  their 
coloring  was  sumptuous.  The  tall,  quaint  clock 
chimed  the  hour. 

Sylvia,  in  her  low  rocker  by  the  table,  sat  so 
that  the  lamp  light  fell  upon  her  hair,  turning  it 
to  gold. 

She  could  hear  Aunt  Zilla's  quick  footsteps, 
as  she  bustled  about,  preparing  tea.  These 
sounds  she  was  conscious  of  in  a  vague  way,  but 
uppermost  in  her  mind  was  her  disgust,  her  aver- 
sion for  Luke  Elmore. 

331 


332        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

His  personality  was  repulsive  to  her,  but 
far  more  offensive  was  his  egotism,  his  effront- 
ery. 

So  sure  of  himself  was  he  that  he  had  believed 
that  when  he  chose  to  marry,  he  had  only  to  select 
the  girl  who  best  pleased  him,  and  then  inform 
her  of  his  decision  to  marry  her.  That  she  would 
be  delighted  was  a  matter  of  course.  That  she 
should  have  any  choice  in  the  matter  had  never 
occurred  to  him!  Small  wonder  that  he  was 
amazed  at  Sylvia's  attitude. 

For  a  half-hour  after  she  had  left  him,  he  still 
stood  upon  the  bridge,  wondering  how  it  had  hap- 
pened. That  any  one,  whoever  she  might  be, 
could  even  hesitate,  much  less  refuse  him,  was  be- 
yond his  ability  to  comprehend.  Injured  pride, 
anger  toward  Sylvia,  and  absolute  wrath  toward 
some  one  who  already  held  the  key  to  her  heart, 
these  were  the  emotions  that  filled  him  with  rebel- 
lion, and  sent  the  ruddy  color  to  his  face  as  he 
left  the  bridge. 

He  growled  at  a  small  boy  who,  in  the  dusk, 
ran  against  him,  and  a  shivering  cur  whimpered 
at  the  kick  that  he  gave  it,  because  it  crossed  his 
path. 

Consideration  for  those  of  whom  he  wished 
patronage ;  small  mercy  toward  any  less  fortunate 


HEAVEN  SEEMED  NEAR      333 

than  himself,  that  was  Luke  Elmore,  who  believed 
himself  to  be  an  honorable  man. 

What  would  he  have  thought  had  it  been  pos- 
sible for  him  to  know  that  his  unknown,  but  hated, 
rival  had  been  a  witness  to  a  part  of  the  colloquy 
upon  the  bridge? 

And  Sylvia?  How  strange  a  happening  that 
Jack  Stanwood,  screened  by  the  alders,  and  un- 
derbrush, should  have  heard  a  part  of  Elmore's 
declaration,  his  presence  undreamed  of.  After 
the  long  months  of  separation,  he  had  been  so 
near,  that,  had  he  called  her  name  she  would  have 
heard  and  answered;  yet  he  had  come,  and  gone, 
without  greeting  or  farewell. 

In  haste  he  had  set  out  on  the  little  journey  to 
Blossomville,  and  with  greater  haste  he  had  left 
it. 

Sometimes  Fate  plays  a  queer  prank,  and  then 
leaves  her  victims  wondering  what  prompted  her 
to  do  the  trick.  Trefton  hearing  of  his  friend's 
return  from  the  business  trip,  had  dropped  in  one 
evening,  filled  with  the  hope  that  somewhere  on 
the  way  Jack  had  picked  up  a  parcel  of  cheer. 
Unwilling  to  wait  for  the  elevator,  he  had  climbed 
the  stairs,  and  finding  the  door  ajar,  had  entered, 
surprising  Jack  with  Sylvia's  picture  in  his  hand. 

Instead  of  being  treated 'to  a  series  of  rhapso- 


334        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

dies,  Jack  at  once  commenced  to  inveigh  against 
women  as  being  insincere,  unfaithful,  changeable, 
never  twice  alike,  whereupon  Trefton  slapped  him 
on  the  back,  and  congratulated  him  upon  his  good 
sense,  declaring  that  he  had  at  last  awakened  to 
a  sense  of  things  as  they  existed. 

"  Before  this,  Jack,  you've  been  leaning  alto- 
gether too  much  toward  love  and  sentiment, 
whereas,  I've  always  told  you  that  those  things 
exist  only  in  the  brains  of  idealists.  You've 
turned  just  in  time  to  save  yourself  from  the  awful 
fate  of  those  who  are  trying  to  be  '  Happy  tho' 
married.' 

"  I  congratulate  you,  and  welcome  you  to  the 
'  Brotherhood  of  Bachelors  ' !  " 

"  Confound  you,  Trefton !  What  kind  of  a 
welcome  is  this  you're  giving  me?  Are  you  out 
of  your  head?  Who  said  anything  about  bache- 
lors, anyway?  You  caught  me  looking  at  the 
most  beautiful  girl  in  the  world.  Does  that  look 
as  if  I  were  contemplating  celibacy?  " 

Trefton  was  astonished.  He  conquered  a  wild 
desire  to  laugh,  for  in  Stanwood's  present  mood  a 
laugh  would  be  unpardoned. 

"  I'll  run  along,"  Trefton  said,  "  and  I'll  look 
in  again  later.  I'll  say  one  thing,  tho',  before  I 
go,  and  that  is,  '  put  away  that  picture,  and  keep 


HEAVEN  SEEMED  NEAR      335 

away  from  the  girl  until  you  feel,  well,  a  wee  bit 
amiable!'" 

He  was  gone,  and  riding  down  in  the  elevator, 
before  Jack  had  thought  of  a  reply. 

Had  he  been  a  boor?  Well,  Trefton  had  been 
irritating,  offering  advice  that  had  not  been  so- 
licited. What  had  prompted  him  to  hail  his  best 
friend  as  a  member  of  what  he  jocularly  termed 
the  "  Brotherhood  of  Bachelors  "  ? 

Did  he  think  himself  witty? 

Because  of  an  estrangement,  the  best  girl  in 
the  world  and  his  humble  self  had  been  parted  for 
what  seemed  an  outrageous  length  of  time,  but 
was  that  any  affair  of  Trefton's  ?  Was  it  a  joke  ? 

Jack  Stanwood  possessed  a  cool  head  for  busi- 
ness, but  that  was  due  largely  to  training  under  the 
iron  rule  of  old  Marcus  Stanwood,  for  often  a 
hasty  act  betrayed  the  warm,  impulsive  nature  that 
lay  concealed  under  a  calm  exterior. 

Trefton  had  touched  the  hidden  spring,  and 
Jack,  aware  of  an  uncontrollable  longing  to  be 
with  Sylvia,  and  filled  with  resentment  at  Tref- 
ton's luckless  speech,  threw  a  few  articles  into  a 
suit-case,  turned  off  the  gas,  slammed  the  door  of 
his  room  with  unnecessary  violence,  and  took  a 
taxi  to  the  station,  intent  upon  but  one  thing,  and 
that  was  catching  the  train  for  Blossomville. 


336         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

He  had  found  no  letter  awaiting  him,  but 
might  she  not  be  ill? 

He  had  fumed  at  the  slow  progress  of  the  train, 
and  when  at  last  he  heard  the  station  called,  had 
left  the  car  and  taken  a  short  cut  across  the  fields, 
the  quicker  to  reach  the  old  house  and  Sylvia. 

He  had  been  foolish  to  believe  the  story  that 
Irma  had  told. 

He  had  been  unjust  not  to  question  Sylvia,  be- 
fore accepting  it  for  a  fact. 

He  told  himself  that  the  gloomy  atmosphere  of 
the  old  house  had  influenced  her,  and  made  her 
unlike  her  dear  self,  else  had  she  written. 

Then  he  had  looked  ahead,  and  felt  a  bit  con- 
fused as  to  which  direction  next  to  take. 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  and  realized  that 
somewhere,  beyond  that  thicket,  a  man's  voice 
was  speaking. 

Ah,  a  little  bridge,  and,  if  it  were  earlier  in 
the  day,  doubtless  one  might  see  two  figures  upon 
it,  for  the  man's  voice  was  eager,  so  it  was  safe 
to  conclude  that  he  was  talking  to  a  companion, 
rather  than  communing  with  himself.  Jack 
laughed  softly.  His  heart  was  lighter  than  for 
many  a  day.  He  was  soon  to  see  Sylvia,  and 
Heaven  seemed  near! 

He  moved  forward  that  he  might  ask  for  direc- 


HEAVEN  SEEMED  NEAR      337 

tion.  That  was  a  sonorous  voice,  and  clearly  it 
rang  out  through  the  shadowy  alders. 

'  You  must  have  known  what  all  this  prepara- 
tion at  my  home  meant.  It  was  for  you,  Sylvia, 
for  you!  I  knew  I'd  win  you!  " 

The  triumph  that  thrilled  the  speaker's  voice 
was  unmistakable,  and  the  sudden  shock,  the  sharp 
change  from  anticipated  joy  to  keenest  suffering 
set  Jack's  temples  throbbing. 

So  fast  beat  his  heart  that  he  seemed  half  suf- 
focating, and  as  one  in  a  fearful  dream,  too  fear- 
ful to  be  true,  he  turned,  and  ran,  stumbling, 
hardly  knowing,  surely  not  caring  which  way  he 
went,  so  that  he  might  reach  the  station,  and  take 
a  train  that  would  bear  him  away,  away  from  the 
wretched  spot. 


CHAPTER  XLII 

SMOLDERING 

APRIL  had  come,  and  the  willows,  heralds 
of  early  spring,  waved  their  garlands  of 
tender  green  mist,  and  wondered  that  the 
sun  was  so  fickle,  now  smiling  and  shedding  the 
warmth  that  they  craved,  now  playing  at  hide-and- 
seek  with  the  pattering  raindrops. 

When  the  sun  peeped  forth,  the  willows  looked 
more  deeply  vernal;  after  the  shower  they  boasted 
jeweled  tips.  Along  the  stream  the  meadows 
were  showing  masses  of  fresh  color,  and  over  the 
water  a  dragon-fly  hovered,  out  so  much  earlier 
than  his  friends,  the  butterflies,  that  he  felt  lonely, 
and  began  to  think  that  he  had  been  over  ambi- 
tious in  venturing  forth.  The  sunlit  days  were 
warm,  but  at  evening,  a  chill  breeze  came. 

At  the  Wiley  farm  the  blazing  logs  kept  the  liv- 
ing-room, or  "  settin'-room  "  cozy  and  cheery. 
The  time  had  been  when  Ezra  and  his  good  wife 
had  worked  long  and  hard  to  pay  off  the  mortgage 
on  the  farm.  Since  that  time  more  land  had  been 

338 


SMOLDERING  339 

purchased,  money  earned  on  the  farm  had  been 
carefully  invested,  and  now  the  two  were  able  to 
enjoy  the  fruits  of  their  labor,  and  were  free  to 
take  things  rather  easy.  Ezra  was  generous  to  a 
fault,  and  always  had  been,  even  in  the  days  of 
hard  work  and  strict  economy;  and  it  was  said  that 
no  one  ever  asked  him  in  vain  for  aid.  Tem- 
perance, equally  generous  at  heart,  was  a  bit  more 
cautious,  and  there  had  been  times  when  she  had 
thought  his  generosity  a  bit  reckless.  '  Ye  don't 
wait  ter  learn  if  a  feller  is  deservin',  'fore  ye  as- 
sist him,"  she  often  complained,  to  which  Ezra 
would  reply: 

"  Why  Temp'rance,  whilest  I  was  awaitin'  ter 
find  that  out,  the  feller  might  starve." 

"  I  ain't  speakin'  er  food,"  would  be  the  quick 
response,  "fer  I  don't  keer  how  much  food  ye 
give  him,  but  I  seen  ye  handin'  him  money,  too." 

"  Wai,  he  needed  money,  so  I  give  him  what 
I  could.  Really,  Temp'rance,  he  was  in  a  tight 
fix." 

Even  now  that  prosperity  was  theirs,  she  felt 
that  she  must  keep  a  restraining  hand  upon  him, 
lest  he  become  more  prodigal  in  his  determination 
to  lend  the  proverbial  helping  hand. 

As  they  sat  before  the  blazing  fire,  a  sense 
of  peace  and  comfort  filled  Ezra's  heart.  Tern- 


340        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

perance  felt  the  glow,  but  something  was  puzzling 
her.  She  longed  to  question  Ezra;  was  wonder- 
ing how  best  to  begin. 

After  all,   why  not  be  direct  about   it? 

For  a  long  time  silence  had  reigned. 

Ezra  was  inclined  to  talk  if  his  wife  wished  it, 
but  for  once  Temperance  seemed  to  have  nothing 
to  say. 

Each  was  furtively  watching  the  other. 

The  ticking  of  the  old  clock,  the  rustling  of 
Ezra's  paper,  a  week-old  edition,  yet  still  worth 
reading:  these  were  the  sounds  to  which  his  wife's 
knitting  needles  kept  a  steady  accompaniment. 
On  the  red  tiles  before  the  fire  sat  the  cat,  Muffy, 
coaxing  himself  to  sleep  with  a  purring  lullaby. 
Ezra  took  the  opportunity  when  Temperance  was 
picking  up  a  dropped  stitch  to  peer  at  her  over  his 
paper.  When  the  stitch  was  replaced,  Tem- 
perance glanced  sharply  toward  her  husband,  to 
see  if  he  were  looking,  —  and  he  was. 

uEzry!" 

Ezra  dropped  his  paper,  and  picked  it  up. 

"  Wai,  Temp'rance?  "  he  said. 

"  Jim  Jimson  seems  uncommon  cheerful.  He's 
tellin'  all  'round  town  what  a  hard  time  he's  had 
with  all  them  children  ter  bring  up,  an'  that  now 
he's  on  the  way  ter  see  a  bit  er  comfort,  hevin' 


SMOLDERING  341 

bought  the  stage  route.  He  didn't  hev  no  money 
ter  buy  that,  or  anything  else  with,  an'  it's  'roun' 
Blossomville  that  ye  furnished  the  cash.  Ezry, 


"  I  guess  I  did,"  he  admitted,  and  then  waited, 
as  if  for  a  downpour  that  could  not  be  averted. 

"  Guess?     Don't  ye  know,  Ezry?  " 

11  I  guess,  an'  I  know  I  done  it,"  said  the  gentle 
little  old  man,  his  chin  raised,  his  mild  blue  eyes 
determined.  Then  came  a  surprise. 

"  Wai,  all  I've  got  ter  say  is,  it's  the  best  of  all 
yer  good  deeds,  Ezry,  an'  that's  sayin'  con- 
sid'able!" 

Ezra  took  her  hand,  and  for  a  time  the  two 
sat  thus. 

No  words  were  needed.  They  were  in  per- 
fect accord.  Louder  purred  the  cat,  basking  in 
the  atmosphere  of  content,  and  the  old  clock 
ticked  cheerily  on,  while  at  the  top  of  its  dial  the 
rising  sun  smiled  jovially  down  upon  the  happy  old 
couple. 

Love,  peace,  and  contentment  were  the  three 
spirits  that  hovered  over  the  Wiley  home,  and 
happiness  was  the  result  of  their  ministrations. 

At  the  great  house  on  the  hill  gloom  held  sway. 
The  Squire  was  a  changed  being.  Proud,  confi- 


342        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

dent,  boastful,  he  had  ever  been,  going  his  way 
as  if  he  were  the  only  person  in  the  world  to  be 
considered,  wearing  always  the  mien  of  a  con- 
queror. 

True  he  had  much  for  which  to  be  thankful, 
much  that  gave  reason  for  his  complacency,  but 
nothing  could  warrant  Luke  Elmore,  or  indeed 
any  man,  in  being  overbearing,  or  in  considering 
his  own  will  a  law. 

He  had  felt  that  but  one  thing  was  necessary  to 
make  his  life  complete,  and  that  one  thing,  dearer 
than  all  the  world,  was  Sylvia  Durant. 

How  confidently  he  had  told  her  of  his  deter- 
mination to  place  her  at  the  head  of  his  establish- 
ment! Aye,  that  was  what  had  hurt,  that  was 
what  had  made  him  smart! 

Had  he  asked  her  gently,  his  fall  would  have 
been  less  humiliating,  although  the  disappointment 
would  have  been  the  same. 

In  his  arrogance  he  had  believed  that  the  girl 
did  not  exist  who  would  hesitate  for  a  second 
when  asked  to  be  his  wife. 

But  he  had  not  asked  Sylvia,  proud,  beautiful 
Sylvia ! 

Instead  he  had  boldly  informed  her  that  he 
had  decided  to  marry  her!  Her  anger  and 
scorn  had  amazed,  yes,  actually  stunned  him,  and 


SMOLDERING  343 

he  had  stood  upon  the  little  bridge  until  twilight 
had  come,  looking  at  the  spot  where  she  had  stood, 
and  seeming  still  to  see  the  proud  eyes  that  had 
flashed  fire  when  she  had  cried  out:  "  Stop!  "  as 
if  she  had  reached  the  limit  of  endurance.  When 
later  he  roused  himself,  as  from  a  stupor,  he  was 
aware  of  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling. 

His  egotism  had  received  a  staggering  blow, 
and  filled  with  anger  toward  Sylvia,  toward  the 
whole  world,  especially  the  wee  part  of  it  called 
"  Blossomville,"  he  turned  homeward,  striking  at 
any  object  that  chanced  to  be  in  his  way,  much 
more  like  an  ugly-tempered  child  than  like  a  grown 
man. 

The  housekeeper,  unaware  of  what  had  hap- 
pened to  banish  his  usual  complacency,  tried  in 
every  way  to  please  him,  and  failed  ignominiously. 

Indoors,  or  out  wandering  about  the  place,  it 
was  all  the  same.  Luke  Elmore  had  become  sul- 
len, morose. 

Constant  brooding  did  not  improve  matters, 
and  daily  he  became  more  churlish. 

To  make  matters  worse,  the  village  news 
gatherer,  Josh  Lumley,  chanced  to  pass  one  morn- 
ing as  the  Squire  stood  at  the  gate. 

"  Git  much  mail  over  here?  "  he  asked,  for  the 
want  of  a  more  interesting  subject. 


344         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  No,"  growled  the  Squire. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  Josh  inquired. 

"Ain't  ye  feelin'  well?" 

"  Do  I  look  sick?  "  roared  Elmore. 

"  Wai,  no,  not  'zactly,"  drawled  Josh,  "  but 
ye  do  look  pestered." 

Before  he  could  reply  Josh  continued,  "  An' 
so  be  I,  I  yum  I  be,  fer  they's  one  thing  what's 
goin'  on  in  this  tarnal  place  that  I  can't  find  out 
'bout,  an'  that  is  who  the  feller  is  that's  writin' 
so  many  letters  ter  Miss  Durant,  an'  there  ain't 
nobody  that  knows.  Even  Nat  Gates  can't  tell, 
an'  he's  held  'em  up  ter  the  winder,  an'  even  held 
a  candle  behind  'em  of  an  evenin'  but  they're  writ 
on  too  thick  paper,  an'  the  onwallop  is  thick,  too, 
so's  ye  can't  noways  see  through  it." 

"  Clear  out,  will  you?  I  don't  like  your 
news!  "  shouted  Elmore,  and  Josh,  with  a  mock 
assumption  of  fear,  went  ambling  off  down  the 
road,  chuckling  at  the  show  of  anger  that  he  had 
called  forth. 

"  I  wanted  ter  know  ef  he  cared,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  an'  I  found  out,  by  jing!  " 

And  that  news  was  a  veritable  firebrand 
touched  to  Elmore's  sullen  wrath.  The  letters 
that  came  to  Sylvia  were  not  so  numerous  as  Josh 
had  represented,  and  they  had  come  from  her 


SMOLDERING  345 

lawyer,  in  reply  to  questions  that  she  had  been 
obliged  to  ask,  but  the  curious  ones  did  not  know 
that.  Josh  Lumley  had  wrought  greater  mischief 
than  he  dreamed. 

Luke  Elmore  remained  away  from  the 
"  Square,"  and  the  old  cronies  who  met  at  Nat 
Gates'  store  to  "  swap  "  bits  of  recently  acquired 
gossip,  talked  and  wondered,  and  wondered  and 
talked,  but  came  no  nearer  to  solving  the  problem 
as  to  the  cause  of  the  Squire's  continued  absence. 

"  He  ain't  sick,"  said  an  old  farmer,  "  fer  I  seen 
him  yest'day  as  I  was  goin'  by." 

"  Oh,  ye're  too  sure,  but  not  smart  'nough  at 
guessin',"  responded  a  lean,  long-legged  man,  who 
sat  on  the  cracker-barrel  and  took  frequent 
lunches  therefrom. 

"  That  feller's  lost  some  weight,  but  they  is 
somethin'  else  he's  lost,"  he  continued,  "  an'  that's 
peace  er  mind." 

"  Sho !  Ye  don't  mean  that,"  remarked  a  little 
man,  shifting  a  very  dry  prune,  so  that  he  might 
be  able  to  talk  around  it. 

"Don't  I?"  cried  the  challenged  one,  "Don't 
I?"  he  repeated.  "Wai,  all  I  got  ter  say  is: 
'  Go  up  that  way,  an'  take  a  look  at  him,'  V  I 
guess  ye'll  c'nclood  I  hit  the  bulls-eye  when  I  made 
that  remark!  " 


346         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

The  "  Squire  "  was  indeed  losing  weight,  and 
day  by  day  his  countenance  became  more  forbid- 
ding. 

Rarely  he  spoke  unless  spoken  to,  and  his  re- 
plies were  brief,  a  monosyllable  whenever  pos- 
sible. 

It  had  been  sufficiently  outrageous  that  he 
had  been  actually  scorned,  but  the  thought  that 
another  had  possessed  the  girl's  heart,  while  he, 
Luke  Elmore,  had  been  angling  for  it,  ah,  that 
was  maddening! 

Over  and  over  he  turned  the  matter,  and  daily 
his  anger  increased. 

His  housekeeper  was  baffled.  He  had  driven 
the  carpenters  from  the  place,  declaring  that  the 
noise  of  their  hammers  was  unbearable.  When 
she  inquired  if  their  work  were  unsatisfactory,  he 
told  her  to  mind  her  own  business!  No  va- 
grant cat  or  dog  crossed  the  place  now,  having  be- 
come too  well  acquainted  with  the  toe  of  the 
Squire's  boot,  and  also  with  the  fact  that  when  he 
was  not  sufficiently  near  to  kick,  he  threw  stones 
with  unerring  aim. 

Weary  of  remaining  indoors,  he  would  go  out 
into  the  little  grove  at  the  rear  of  the  house,  where 
he  could  walk  with  small  chance  of  meeting  neigh- 
bor or  friend. 


SMOLDERING  347 

With  his  arms  folded  and  his  head  bent,  he 
felt  relieved  because  free  from  the  watchful  eye 
of  the  housekeeper. 

There,  with  only  moody  thoughts  for  company, 
he  would  pace  for  hours  along  a  well-worn  foot- 
path, angry  with  one  whom  he  had  never  seen, 
and  filled  with  impotent  rage,  because  of  the  im- 
possibility of  striking  a  fearful  blow  at  one  whose 
name  and  whereabouts  were  unknown  to  him. 
On  mild  days  the  housekeeper  watched  him  from 
the  window  in  the  barn  loft. 

There  came  a  day  when  she  saw  him  suddenly 
halt,  as  if  some  unusual  thought  had,  for  the  mo- 
ment, held  him.  She  turned  to  leave  the  window, 
fearing  that  he  might  see  her,  but  upon  looking 
over  her  shoulder,  she  saw  that  he  had  resumed 
his  walk. 

"Queer  what  happened  to  change  him  so!" 
she  said,  adding,  after  a  moment's  reflection: 
"  Always  acted  's  if  he  owned  the  earth,  an'  was 
turr'ble  proud  of  it.  Now!  Good  Ian' !  Ye'd 
think  he  didn't  hev  nothin'  an'  never  expected  to, 
neither." 

A  moment  longer  she  regarded  him.  "  I  vum ! 
He's  talkin'  ter  hisself!  I'd  give  all  creation  ef 
this  ol'  barn  was  nigh  'nough,  so's  I  could  hear 
what  he's  mutt'rin'  'bout." 


348        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

It  was  indeed  a  new  idea  that  had  caused  Luke 
Elmore  to  halt  in  the  middle  of  the  path. 

"  If  some  one  is  constantly  writing  to  her,  it 
must  be  that  he  sometimes  comes  to  '  The  Three 
Birches  '  to  see  her !  Fool  that  I  didn't  think  of 
that  before,"  he  growled. 

He  resumed  his  tramping,  and  for  a  time 
seemed  lost  in  gloomy  thought.  Suddenly  he 
started,  and  the  color  rushed  to  his  cheek,  his  eyes 
darkened,  and  he  clenched  his  fists.  His  breath 
came  faster.  He  seemed  struggling  with  some 
terrible  thought  that  he  strove  to  down. 

Again  he  paused.  He  removed  his  hat  as  if  to 
let  the  soft  breeze  cool  his  throbbing  temples. 
Then  an  impulse,  too  strong  to  be  resisted  seized 
him. 

"  If  I  could  know  when  the  writer  of  those  let- 
ters was  on  his  way  to  the  Durant  house,  I'd  lay 
a  trap  that  would  be  his  finish!  "  he  muttered. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

LIKE   AN   ACCUSING    EYE 

RINGING  blows  of  an  axe  awoke  the  echoes 
in  the  forest,  as  a  sturdy  youth  strove  to  fell 
a  fine  stately  specimen  at  the  edge  of  the 
clearing. 

Another  youth  stood  watching  him,  a  youth  so 
like  him  in  face  and  form  that  one  need  not  be 
told  that  they  were  brothers. 

The  clearing  was  the  result  of  a  week  of  their 
combined  labor,  and  bravely  the  two  young  fel- 
lows had  worked,  the  darker,  and  stronger  of  the 
two  having  chopped  the  greater  number  of  the 
trees  whose  stumps  now  barely  showed  above  the 
ground. 

The  busy  one  paused  to  rest,  and  the  other 
laughed  to  see  him  rub  his  aching  arm. 

"  Gee!  My  arms  are  lame!  "  he  said.  "  Say 
you !  What's  the  joke?  I'll  bet  yours  ache,  only 
you  won't  say  so!  " 

"  Ache  nothin' !  "   exclaimed  the   other,   "  My 

349 


350        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

muscles  are  like  iron.  Here,  gimme  the  axe,  an' 
I'll  finish  that  job  quicker'n  a  flash!  " 

He  attempted  to  wrench  the  axe  from  his  broth- 
er's hand,  the  two  boys  laughing,  as  each  strug- 
gled for  possession. 

"G'way!"  shouted  the  first  youth. 

"  I  commenced  ter  chop  this  tree  an'  I'm  goin' 
ter  finish  it.  You  can  do  the  next." 

"  All  right,  Dan.  Chop  away.  Show  yer 
strength!  Now  ye  do  it,  now  ye  do  it!  Hoo- 
ray!" 

The  younger  of  the  two  summoned  all  his 
strength  that  he  might  quickly  fell  the  tree,  and 
prove  the  good-natured  jeering  to  be  idle. 

He  believed  that  a  few  well-directed  bfows 
would  bring  down  the  tree,  but  when  obliged  to 
rest  for  a  moment  it  was  still  standing. 

"  Say,  that's  the  toughest  one  I've  tackled  this 
week." 

"  Wai,  let  me  have  a  hack  at  it,  Dan.  The 
job's  too  big  fer  ye." 

"  Oh,  git  out,  Gus!  I  want  ter  finish  this  one 
myself!" 

"  Hi,  fellers !  Drop  that  job,  an'  come  on  over 
ter  the  next  village.  The  big  mill  is  all  ablaze, 
an'  no  water  handy !  " 

"  Be  ye  jokin'?  "  queried  Dan. 


LIKE  AN  ACCUSING  EYE      351 

'  Jokin'  ?  Wai,  'tain't  much  of  a  joke.  Come 
on  over!  Folks  is  runnin'  their  legs  off  ter  git 
there!" 

Dan  dropped  the  axe,  leaving  the  tree  cut  nearly 
through. 

"  Say !  We  oughn't  ter  leave  a  tree  like  that," 
said  Gus.  "  Finish  cuttin'  it,  an'  then  come  on." 

"  Oh,  let  it  be !  "  cried  Dan,  "  fer  if  it  falls  it'll 
only  smash  'nother  tree,  an'  save  us  the  bother  er 
choppin'  that  one  at  least." 

"  That's  so,"  agreed  Dan,  and  the  three  youths 
started  for  the  scene  of  the  fire. 

"  By  jing!  The  prophet  has  been  foretellin' 
flames  an'  smoke  the  hull  endurin'  time  fer  'most 
a  year,  an'  here's  a  reg'lar  blaze  ter  prove  he  was 
right,"  chuckled  the  lad  who  had  brought  the  news. 

The  Squire  saw  the  smoke  curling  far  above  the 
village,  and  knew  that  it  must  be  the  great  mill. 
No  other  building  of  any  size  stood  in  that  loca- 
tion. He  felt  neither  interest,  nor  apprehension. 
Why  should  he?  No  money  of  his  was  invested 
in  the  mill,  so  — 

"  Let  it  burn!  "  he  growled. 

From  his  half-finished  piazza  he  could  see  men, 
women,  and  children  rushing  from  every  direction, 
in  haste  to  reach  the  burning  mill.  To  some  it 


352        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

meant  loss  of  money  invested,  to  others,  loss  of 
employment;  but  to  the  Squire  it  meant  no  loss  of 
any  sort,  therefore  he  smiled  as  with  grim  amuse- 
ment at  the  panic  down  in  the  village. 

"  What's  the  use  of  getting  excited?  "  he  mut- 
tered. "  It'll  continue  to  burn,  now  that  the  blaze 
is  underway.  It  is  only  wasted  effort  to  rush 
about,  or  to  try  to  save  it.  '  Let  it  burn'  I  say !  " 

Elmore  had  never  been  considerate  of  the  wel- 
fare of  others,  but  since  that  afternoon  on  the 
bridge  his  surliness  had  alarmingly  increased,  and 
the  housekeeper  had  become  apprehensive. 

"  Ef  he  keeps  on  frettin',  an'  broodin'  as  he's  a 
doin'  of  now,  he'll  be  out'n  his  head!  "  She  said 
this  to  herself,  and  then  repeated  it  to  the  neigh- 
bors. "  He  didn't  never  seem  ter  feel  any  sym- 
p'thy  fer  folks  when  they  had  hard  luck,  but  he's 
wuss'n  that  now,  fer  now  he  'pears  ter  be  actooally 
glad  of  it." 

Discreetly  she  watched  him,  as  he  stood  on  the 
lawn,  looking  down  upon  the  excited  people  of 
Blossomville,  as  they  raced  toward  the  burning 
pile  or  stood  in  little  groups,  eagerly  questioning 
how  the  fire  had  started,  what  had  kindled  it,  and 
whether  the  owners  would  rebuild. 

"  Good  chance  for  a  walk,"  he  remarked,  and 


LIKE  AN  ACCUSING  EYE      353 

having  addressed  the  landscape,  he  was  not  sur- 
prised at  receiving  no  response. 

"  Good  chance  to  take  a  tramp,  without  ex- 
pecting to  meet  half  the  people  a  man  knows,  every 
one  of  them  bent  on  inquiring  for  his  health." 

The  next  moment  he  had  changed  his  mind. 
He  would  ride,  rather  than  walk.  If  he  walked, 
whoever  he  chanced  to  meet  would  try  to  detain 
him,  and  he  was  in  no  mood  for  talking. 

No,  he  would  ride.  Then  if  some  one  were 
fool  enough  to  attempt  to  stop  him,  he  could 
ignore  him,  and  ride  on.  With  this  cheerful 
thought,  he  strode  off  to  the  barn. 

"Here  Giles!  Giles!  That  loafer  is  never 
on  hand  when  he's  wanted!  " 

Giles,  hearing  the  shout,  came  running  around 
from  behind  the  barn  and  began  to  explain  his 
momentary  absence,  but  the  Squire  cut  him  short. 

u  Never  mind  about  that.  Just  bring  out  Fire- 
fly. I'm  going  for  a  ride." 

"  He's  in  a  nasty  mood,  Sir,"  Giles  remarked. 
"  I  do'no'  whatever  ails  him,  but  he's  nearly 
kicked  the  stall  down,  an'  he's  pawin'  the  floor,  an' 
he  tried  to  kick  me.  I'd  not  be  ridin'  him  'f  I 
was  you,  Sir.  He's  that  ugly  that  I  think  he'd  be 
too  much  fer  ye  — " 


354        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  That's  my  business,"  snapped  the  Squire. 
"  Bring  him  out." 

An  instant  Giles  hesitated. 

"  Bring  him  out,  I  say,"  shouted  the  Squire,  and 
without  further  effort  at  dissuading,  Giles,  after 
many  attempts,  succeeded  in  getting  both  saddle 
and  bridle  upon  Firefly. 

The  Squire  lost  no  time,  and  vaulting  into  the 
saddle,  was  off  down  the  road.  As  horse  and 
rider  disappeared  behind  a  clump  of  willows  at 
the  bend,  Giles  thrust  out  both  hands,  palms  down- 
ward, shook  them,  as  one  relinquishing  all  respon- 
sibility, and  returned  to  the  rear  of  the  barn  to 
resume  his  day-dreaming. 

"  The  devil  hisself  wouldn't  be  able  ter  deal 
with  him  these  days!  "  he  grumbled. 

Firefly,  aware  that  he  was  being  guided  in 
no  especial  direction,  chose  his  own  course,  and 
soon  turned  from  the  road  into  a  woodland 
path. 

His  master  seemed  unaware  of  the  fact  that 
they  had  left  the  road. 

Loosely  he  held  the  bridle,  and  with  his  head 
bent,  rode  on  toward  the  heart  of  the  woods 
along  a  narrow  foot  path'. 

Suddenly  the  horse  stopped,  as  if  he  saw  or 
heard  something  that  was  not  to  his  liking. 


LIKE  AN  ACCUSING  EYE      355 

"  Go  on!  "  roared  Elmore,  with  a  smart  tap  of 
his  boot-heel. 

It  was  not  spurred,  and  for  some  unknown  rea- 
son the  mettlesome  creature  ignored  the  act.  At 
any  other  time,  Firefly  would  had  reared  angrily 
at  such  an  indignity. 

"  If  I  could  know  the  day  that  that  fellow  comes 
to  '  The  Birches  ' ;  if  I  could  know  if  he  '  short- 
cuts '  from  the  station  across  the  meadow  land,  I'd 
lay  a  trap  that  would — " 

A  sharp,  crashing  sound  as  of  rending  timber 
smote  the  air. 

Fireflyplunged  forward,  hurling  the  rider  over 
his  head,  then  through  the  wood  he  bolted,  his 
eyes  wild,  his  mouth  foaming. 

Elmore's  head  had  struk  a  bit  of  jagged  rock, 
stunning  him,  and  the  great  tree  crashing  down 
upon  him,  held  him  pinned  to  earth,  a  prisoner. 
How  long  he  lay  there  unconscious  he  never  knew, 
but  night-fall  was  at  hand  when  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  realized  that  he  was  a  captive.  His 
mind  had  been  full  of  evil  thoughts  when,  sud- 
denly, he  had  been  thrown  to  earth,  and  held,  as 
in  a  vise,  only  his  brain  capable  of  action.  Now, 
he  had  time  to  think. 

He  did  think. 

What  caused  the  splitting  pain  in  his  temples? 


356        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Why  had  his  arms  been  pinioned?  If  only  his 
arm  had  been  free  it  would  have  been  less  horri- 
ble. Were  his  ribs  crushed? 

Under  the  fearful  weight  of  that  tree-trunk 
there  was  excruciating  pain,  nay,  agony. 

Where  was  Firefly? 

If  the  riderless  horse  had  gone  home,  or  had 
raced  through  the  village,  some  one  surely  would 
have  been  out  searching  for  him  before  this. 

Would  help  never  come?  Would  he  lie  there 
all  night?  What  could  have  caused  a  huge  tree 
like  that  to  fall,  and  if  it  must  fall  upon  any  one, 
why  upon  him? 

Then  wrath  mastered  him,  and  he  raved  at  the 
stupidity  of  Giles,  who,  no  doubt,  long  before  this 
time,  had  led  the  horse  into  the  barn,  made  him 
fast  in  his  stall,  and  given  never  a  thought  to  the 
hapless  rider. 

He  alternately  raved  and  groaned,  for  he  was 
indeed  in  agony.  Then,  again  he  became  uncon- 
scious. The  chill,  damp  breeze  of  early  evening 
roused  him,  and  he  realized  that  he  was  very  cold. 

He  gazed  upward  at  the  sky,  and  wondered 
that  no  stars  looked  down  at  him. 

It  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  there  suffering 
torments,  and  no  sound  of  human  life  near.  He 
tried  to  think  in  what  part  of  the  great  stretch  of 


LIKE  AN  ACCUSING  EYE      357 

woodland  he  was  lying.  The  clearing  had  been 
made  in  a  week's  time,  but  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
work  of  the  two  young  woodchoppers,  and 
vaguely  endeavored  to  recall  if  in  any  part  of  the 
forest  he  had  ever  seen  so  large  an  open  space. 

Then  a  gust  of  wind  drove  a  sheet  of  mist 
across  his  upturned  face,  and  he  knew  that  the 
night  was  to  be  stormy.  The  drizzling  rain 
drenched  his  garments,  came  down  pitilessly  upon 
his  uncovered  head.  His  wet  hair  clung  to  his 
temples. 

Oh,  the  misery  of  lying  there,  without  even  the 
comfort  of  moving  arm  or  hand!  His  hat  lay 
within  easy  reach  if  only  one  hand  had  been  free. 
What  had  been  a  drizzle  soon  turned  to  a 
downpour. 

The  wind  had  shifted. 

From  the  south,  warm  and  sultry,  had  come  the 
mistlike  drizzle. 

Then  suddenly  it  had  veered,  and  from  the 
northeast  had  sped  a  cold,  chilling  storm. 

The  night  seemed  at  least  a  month  long;  the 
following  day,  endless. 

All  through  that  dreadful  day  the  storm  raged, 
its  fury  only  spent  when  twilight  came. 

Late  in  the  evening  of  that  second  night,  El- 
more  saw  wee  stars  peeping  forth;  and  one 


358        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

greater,  more  brilliant  than  the  others,  looked 
down  at  him  like  an  acusing  eye. 

He  closed  his  eyes,  but  when  he  opened  them, 
it  still  was  looking  at  him,  and  by  its  radiance,  it 
seemed  to  light  the  inner  recesses  of  his  heart. 

He  saw  himself,  brooding,  surly,  without  a 
kindly  word  for  any  one.  He  thought  of  how  he 
had  rode  Firefly,  caring  not  in  which  direction  the 
animal  had  gone.  Had  he  guided  him,  this 
wretched  experience  would  never  have  been  his. 
The  horse  had  wandered  aimlessly  into  the  wood- 
land path. 

Giles  had  warned  him. 

Firefly  had  been  ill-humored,  but  the  crash  of 
the  falling  tree  had  been  enough  to  frighten  any 
horse.  With  Firefly  it  had  been  a  case  of  sudden 
panic. 

Again  Elmore  closed  his  eyes  as  he  recalled, 
with  fearful  distinctness  the  sensation  of  plunging 
forward,  then  striking  on  his  head  with  terrific 
force,  then,  blackness.  He  shuddered,  then  cried 
out  in  anguish.  Would  help  never  come? 

Suddenly  an  awful  thought  flitted  through  his 
mind.  A  thought  that  was  so  appalling  that,  for 
a  second,  he  held  his  breath. 

He  looked  upward.  The  great  star,  cold  and 
brilliant,  looked  steadily  down  at  him. 


LIKE  AN  ACCUSING  EYE      359 

Yes,  yes,  the  star  was  right.  There  was  no 
such  thing  as  evading  that  clear,  relentless  eye  up 
there  in  the  heavens. 

It  was  waiting,  waiting! 

"  I  do  admit,"  he  murmured,  "  I  do  admit.  I 
meant  to  lay  a  trap  for  him,  a  man  I'd  never  seen; 
and  who,  while  he  had  won  her,  had  done  so  hon- 
estly, knowing  nothing  of  me,  or  my  love  for  her. 
She  was  his  —  first,  and  always;  I  was  the  inter- 
loper, though  I  didn't  know  it,  and  here  I  lie  in 
a  trap  such  as  a  few  days  ago  I  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  seen  him  in. 

"  I  was  trapped,  even  while  I  was  longing  to 
trap  him.  Lord  have  mercy!" 

He  had  again  lapsed  into  unconsciousness. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

SUMMONED 

THE  frightened  horse,  freed  from  his 
rider's  weight,  had  plunged  headlong  into 
the  heart  of  the  forest,  and  probably 
would  have  continued  to  run  until  exhausted,  but 
for  the  thicket  in  which  he  found  himself  ensnared. 
Blinded  by  terror  he  had  dashed  into  a  clump  of 
bushes,  and  his  bridle  had  become  so  entangled  in 
the  briers  that,  struggle  as  he  would,  he  could  not 
break  away. 

Hunger  and  thirst  tormented  him.  He  had 
pawed  the  ground  with  his  restless  hoofs,  tear- 
ing the  turf  entirely  away.  He  had  tossed  his 
head  until  his  mane  had  become  as  firmly  tangled 
as  his  bridle  in  the  short,  briery  branches  and 
twigs  of  the  underbrush. 

Up  at  the  house  on  the  hill  a  disconsolate  pair 
talked  of  the  Squire,  his  moodiness,  his  strange 
disappearance. 

"  He'd  been  gloomy  an'  queer  for  some  time. 
I  knew  sumthin'  would  happen  ef  he  kep'on  actin' 

360 


SUMMONED  361 

so,  a-talkin'  ter  hisself,  an'  a-worryin'  like  all  pos- 
sessed! " 

"  Oh,  ye  did,  did  ye?  "  Giles  responded.  His 
little,  bead-like  eyes  were  not  pleasant  to  look  at. 

"Ye  knew  somethin'd  happen,  did  ye?  Wai, 
ef  ye  knew  so  much,  I  think  it  would  hev  been 
some  decent  ef  ye'd  told  me  'n'  let  me  been  some 
prepared.  I'd  not  dreamt  he'd  run  away!  " 

'What  could  ye've  done?"  was  the  sharp 
query.  "Come,  speak  up!  What  could  ye?" 

"  I  could  a  looked  fer  'nother  place,"  growled 
Giles,  "  an'  'fore  this  thing  happened,  been  al- 
ready comf'tably  fixed." 

"  How  'bout  me?  "  questioned  the  housekeeper. 

'  Why,  likely,  'f  I'd  gone,  ye'd  had  ter,  fer  ye 
couldn't  do  the  housework  an'  see  ter  the  critters. 
Ye're  a  fine  cook,  so  'twould  been  easy  fer  ye  to 
find  a  place." 

She  was  about  to  ask  what  would  have  become 
of  the  "  critters,"  when  a  vigorous  knocking 
brought  both  to  their  feet. 

Giles  rushed  to  open  the  door,  the  housekeeper 
close  behind  him. 

Josh  Lumley,  flushed  and  panting,  stood  staring 
up  at  them. 

'  The  Squire's  down  in  the  wood,  with  a  big 
tree  what's  tumbled  on  top  of  him.  I  sorter  guess 


362         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

he's  pooty  nigh  done  for,  but  I  ain't  sure.  I 
found  him  jest  as  I  was  goin'  through  the  woods. 
He's  a  layin'— " 

"  Ye'd  better  not  stop  fer  partic'lars,  Josh  Lum- 
ley,"  cried  the  housekeeper,  in  great  excitement. 

"  Here,  you,  Giles !  You'n'  Josh  go'n'  git 
some  fellers  ter  help  ye,  an'  I'll  hev  things  all 
ready  when  ye  bring  him  back. 

"Say!"  she  called  after  them.  "  Ef  ye  see 
any  youngster  round,  send  fer  the  village  doctor. 
The  one  up  this  way  don't  know  nothin' !  " 

Luke  Elmore  knew  naught  of  his  rescuers,  or 
of  his  home-coming.  Unconscious  when  they 
reached  him,  he  did  not  revive  until  he  awoke  to 
find  himself  in  his  own  room,  the  doctor  bending 
over  him. 

The  news  of  his  disappearance  had  gone  like 
wildfire  through  the  little  village,  had  reached 
u  The  Three  Birches,"  and  had  set  Aunt  Zilla 
wondering,  as  indeed  every  one  wondered,  what 
had  caused  him  to  so  suddenly  disappear,  leaving 
no  word  of  explanation  behind  him. 

Sylvia  paid  little  heed  to  what  had  happened, 
or  what  was  being  said  regarding  the  Squire. 
The  thought  of  possible  accident  did  not  occur 


SUMMONED  363 

to  her,  and  she  was  only  vaguely  aware  that  Luke 
Elmore,  if  he  had  chosen  to  leave  town,  had  a 
right  to  do  so,  and  that  at  least,  for  a  time,  he 
would  not  annoy  her. 

Upon  the  heels  of  this  message  came  another, 
telling  of  his  plight  when  found,  and  various  were 
the  descriptions  of  his  condition. 

He  was  hopelessly  maimed;  he  was  not  at  all 
maimed;  he  was  a  very  sick  man,  with  hardly  a 
chance  of  complete  recovery;  he  would  be  frail 
for  a  year,  he  was, —  but  why  prolong  the  list? 

Like  any  information  given  to  the  populace  of 
a  small  place,  it  became  marvelously  twisted,  but 
all  agreed  upon  one  point:  the  Squire  was  des- 
perately ill. 

At  first  delirious,  he  raved  of  the  night,  of  the 
pitiless  stars  looking  coldly  down  at  him,  of  the 
fearful  weight  of  the  great  tree,  then  —  of  the 
trap  that  he  had  dreamed  of  setting;  then,  of  be- 
ing himself  trapped. 

Once  he  murmured:  "Sylvia,  little  girl,  for- 
give me,"  but  of  the  one  for  whom  he  had  vowed 
vengeance  he  said  nothing.  He  whom  he  had 
hated  as  a  rival  was  a  being  whose  name  he  had 
never  heard.  That  was  a  character  made  known 
to  him  by  the  tale  bearing  of  Josh  Lumley. 


364         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Luke  Elmore  had  been  annoyed  by  Sylvia's  in- 
difference, maddened  by  her  refusal  to  listen  to 
his  declaration,  and  infuriated  by  Lumley's  story 
of  the  number  of  letters  received  by  Sylvia,  a 
number  that  Josh  had  described  as  "  'normous." 

He  was,  beyond  question,  a  very  sick  man,  and 
as  he  lay  listening  to  the  ticking  of  the  clock,  his 
thoughts  were  far  from  pleasant  company. 

He  had  been  a  sturdy  man,  whose  ruddy  coun- 
tenance had  been  brightened  by  small,  rather 
merry,  twinkling  eyes. 

Now,  he  was  pale  and  his  eyes  seemed  larger, 
because  his  face  was  thinner.  Serious,  thought- 
ful eyes  they  were;  eyes  from  which  the  twinkle 
had  vanished.  Luke  Elmore  believed  that  his 
time  on  earth  was  short,  and  he  looked  at  many 
things  from  an  entirely  different  viewpoint. 

He  had  become  strangely  patient,  and  made  but 
few  requests,  asking  for  things,  rather  than  de- 
manding them,  and  asking  so  gently  that  the  mem- 
bers of  his  household  were  deeply  impressed;  and 
Giles  confided  to  the  housekeepr  that  he  would 
feel  easier  if  the  Squire  would  "  jest  holler  once't 
more,  so  'twould  seem  like  home." 

One  warm,  and  softly  sunny  morning  Sylvia 
awoke  early,  after  pleasant  dreams  too  vague  to  be 
remembered,  yet  leaving  a  feeling  of  having  spent 


SUMMONED  365 

her  sleeping  hours  enwrapped  as  within  a  golden 
haze. 

She  stood  before  the  glass,  combing  her  bright, 
waving  hair  and  dreaming  happy  dreams  because 
so  soon  the  day  would  come  when  she  would  be 
free  —  free  to  leave  the  forbidding  old  house  for- 
ever! 

The  long  winter  was  behind  her,  and  although 
still  anxious  because  no  reply  had  come  to  her 
letters,  no  word  from  Jack;  yet  on  this  morning, 
for  some  unknown  reason,  her  heart  was  lighter 
than  for  many  days.  Was  a  letter  coming  to- 
day? Perhaps.  Ah,  what  a  rare  delight  that 
would  be. 

She  coiled  the  waving  masses,  pinned  them  se- 
curely, slipped  into  a  soft  clinging  gown,  and  ran 
down  to  the  garden. 

The  shrubs  were  freshly  green,  their  leaves 
small,  and  tender.  Some  were  already  budding. 
The  fleur-de-lis  showed  their  bold,  spear-like  foli- 
age, and  there,  out  under  the  old,  swinging  sign 
was  a  tall  bush  whose  yellow  blossoms  were  just 
opening. 

"  Something  glad  may  happen.  Nothing  sad 
could  happen  on  a  day  like  this !  "  she  cried,  and 
in  the  wild  shrubbery  across  the  road,  a  wee  bird 
echoed  her  words  with  his  clear,  flute-like  song: 


366        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Like  this!     Like  this! 
Like  this!    This!    This!" 

Down  the  road  came  a  sturdy  lad,  whistling 
"  Bonny  Dundee."  His  cap  sat  jauntily  upon  his 
head,  his  hands  were  thrust  into  his  trousers 
pockets.  His  bearing  was  care-free,  and  the  rol- 
licking Scotch  melody  poured  from  his  pursed 
lips  a  torrent  of  gayety. 

"  What  if  he  should  bring  a  '  special '  letter  to 
me,"  Sylvia  whispered,  eagerly. 

Her  heart  beat  faster.  So  sure  was  she  that 
he  was  the  bearer  of  good  news,  that  she  walked 
along  the  garden  path,  so  as  to  be  near  the  gate 
when  he  should  reach  it. 

"  Are  you  Miss  Durant?  "  he  asked. 

u  Yes,"  she  said,  then  eagerly:  "  Have  you  a 
letter  or  message  for  me?  " 

"  M'rn,"  he  mumbled,  hunting  first  in  one 
pocket,  then  the  other. 

"  Oh,  I  know  where  'tis!  I  put  it  in  my  cap," 
he  said,  produced  it,  and  went  on  his  way  whis- 
tling, continuing  the  air  from  where  he  had  left 
off. 

11  Wait!  There  may  be  an  answer!"  she 
cried,  but  his  musical  efforts  were  mighty,  and  he 
did  not  hear  her. 

She  opened  the  folded  paper : 


SUMMONED  367 

"DEER  Miss  DEWRANT:  — 

'  We  don't  no  ways  bleeev  the  Squire  will  be 
livin'  a  gret  wile. 

"  As  he  ast  me  ter  send  fer  yer,  yer  better  come 
rite  of.  He  calls  fer  yer  continooal. 

"  GILES." 

"(I'm  his  farm  hand.  Yer  may  not  no  my 
naim.)" 

The  sunlight  was  as  bright;  but  the  old  garden 
— -  the  morning  itself  —  was  changed.  Keen  dis- 
appointment that  the  message  had  not  been  the 
long  delayed  word  from  the  one  who,  of  all  the 
world,  she  held  dearest;  regret  for  the  man  who, 
so  short  a  time  before,  had  been  buoyant  and  con- 
fident; these  were  the  sensations  that  gripped  her 
heart,  and  beside  these  was  a  very  genuine  dread 
of  the  interview. 

Why  had  he  sent  for  her?  Would  he  plead 
with  her  for  one  word  of  affection?  Though  he 
were  actually  dying  she  could  not  give  it. 

Once  she  had  heard  of  a  similar  case,  and  the 
man  had  sent  for  the  girl,  to  beg  her  to  marry 
him,  that  thus  she  might  inherit  his  property. 

Was  the  Squire  intending  to  do  that? 

She  could  not  accede. 

She  did  not  want  property  thus  obtained,  and 
how  could  she  ever  convince  Jack  that  Elmore 
had  been  nothing  to  her.  Why  must  she  go? 


368         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Little  did  she  think  that  already  Irma,  who  had 
professed  to  be  her  friend,  had  endeavored  to  in- 
fluence Jack  by  representing  that  one  there  was  in 
Blossomville  who  had,  in  his  absence,  won  Sylvia's 
regard. 

Of  course  Aunt  Zilla  approved  of  the  call. 
"  He's  been  real  neighborly,  Sylvia,"  she  said, 
"  an'  since  he's  sent  for  ye,  ye  couldn't  'scape  goin'. 
I  most  wonder  he  didn't  send  fer  me,  fer  'bout 
ev'ry  time  he's  come  here,  ye've  cut  upstairs,  so 
I've  had  ter  ent'tain  him.  I  wonder  ef  he's  sent 
fer  many  er  the  neighbors." 

Sylvia  had  never  told  her  of  the  interview  on 
the  bridge. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

RETRIBUTION 

SYLVIA,  white-gowned,  without  a  bit  of  color 
at  throat  or  girdle,  walked  slowly  along  the 
road,  dreading  the  interview,  yet  aware 
that  each  step  took  her  nearer  to  the  Elmore 
place. 

She  had  never  seen  one  who  was  near  death. 
She  wished  that  his  had  been  an  ordinary  illness 
from  which  recovery  was  reasonably  certain. 
She  did  not  remember  her  parents.  Her  earliest 
recollection  was  of  her  Aunt  Daphne,  and  Mrs. 
Daphne  Van  Horn  had  always  been  exceedingly 
well. 

Aunt  Sylvia  Durant  had  died  suddenly  of 
heart-failure,  while  her  sister,  Mrs.  Van  Horn  and 
Sylvia  were  away  on  a  pleasure  trip.  It  was 
some  weeks  before  they  were  once  more  in  the 
big,  showy  house  on  the  Avenue,  so  that  they 
learned  of  her  death,  long  after  the  funeral. 

Sylvia  blamed  herself  that  she  so  dreaded  to 
reach  the  house,  yet  she  could  not  hasten.  She 

369 


370        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

believed  that  she  had  never  before  made  such  slow 
progress.  Were  her  shoes  weighted  with  lead? 
Her  feet  seemed  very  heavy. 

She  was  in  a  mood  that  caught  impressions  of 
all  things,  important,  and  unimportant. 

She  noticed  the  busy  ants.  They  were  working 
as  assiduously  as  though  the  village  were  not 
shaken  with  a  terrible  happening.  Bees  and  but- 
terflies hovered  over  the  blossoms,  as  happy  and 
light  of  heart,  as  gay  of  spirit  as  if  it  were  glad 
news  that  traveled  from  lip  to  lip.  The  sun- 
shine was  bright,  the  little  Jack-o'-lanterns  flick- 
ered along  the  road. 

All  things  were  glad,  yet  there  across  the  bridge 
lay  one  who  had  enjoyed  life,  but  was  about  to  re- 
linquish it. 

She  had  wished  that  she  might  never  see  him 
again,  but  at  a  time  like  this  who,  with  a  heart, 
could  refuse? 

How  strange  it  was  that  the  sunshine,  the 
dancing  leaves,  the  little  live  things  were  as  ani- 
mated as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to  ruffle  the  calm 
of  the  village. 

Did  the  passing  out  from  life  of  a  soul  that  had 
lived  in  their  midst,  make  no  impression,  leave  no 
scar? 

Was  death  as  little  impressive  as  the  fall  of  a 


RETRIBUTION  371 

pebble  in  the  stream,  only  the  ever-widening  cir- 
cles on  the  surface,  telling  where  it  had  fallen, 
then  the  calm,  as  if  nothing  had  happened? 

She  was  on  the  bridge  now,  and  she  paused  for 
a  moment  to  lean  upon  the  railing,  and  look 
down,  down  into  the  clear  water. 

Even  the  little  stream  murmured  on  its  way,  its 
song  as  cheery  as  when  the  Squire  stood  on  the 
bridge,  boldly  declaring  his  intention  regarding 
the  girl  whom  he  loved.  Confident  he  had  been. 
He  was  always  confident. 

Sylvia  wished  that  she  could  now  feel  the  glad 
assurance  that  had  filled  her  heart  at  early  morn- 
ing. She  had  awakened  from  happy  dreams,  and 
her  first  thought  had  been  of  the  day,  now  near 
at  hand,  when  she  would  be  free  to  leave  "  The 
Three  Birches." 

"  A  year  and  a  day,"  the  will  had  read,  and 
June  first  would  complete  the  year,  June  second, 
the  extra  day! 

Jack  knew  the  date.  He  would  surely  come 
for  her!  And  he  would  write  to  tell  her  of  his 
coming!  But  she  would  not  let  pride  keep  her 
silent.  It  might  be  —  yes,  it  must  be  that  neither 
of  the  two  loving  letters  that  she  had  written 
had  reached  him. 

She  would  write  and  mail  the  letter  at  once ! 


372        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

But  the  message  from  the  Elmore  place  had 
been  too  imperative  to  allow  her  to  delay  her  call 
there.  It  had  urged  her  to  come  at  once,  and 
she  had  set  forth. 

She  must  not  longer  stand  on  the  little  bridge 
dreaming. 

She  dreaded  to  come  face  to  face  with  a  dying 
man. 

She  was  annoyed  with  herself  that  she  so  shrank 
from  the  interview. 

Why  did  she  feel  so  ill,  yes,  sick  at  heart? 

The  year  at  the  old  house  had  told  upon  her, 
and  her  nerves  were  badly  shaken  by  the  long 
strain. 

"  Oh,  to  be  again  my  own  self,  happy  with  Jack, 
and  care  free!  "  she  thought. 

With  a  determined  effort,  she  left  the  bridge, 
and  without  longer  delay,  walked  briskly  along 
the  road.  With  a  firm  step  she  turned  in  at  the 
broad  driveway.  The  housekeeper  saw  her  com- 
ing, and  hastened  to  the  door.  Sylvia  had  worn 
no  hat.  Leaving  her  parasol  in  the  hall,  she  fol- 
lowed the  housekeeper. 

"  This  way,  Miss  Durant,"  she  said,  and  the 
girl  found  herself  at  the  door  of  a  large  chamber. 

"  Go  right  in,"  said  the  housekeeper,  and  Sylvia 


RETRIBUTION  373 

entered.  Was  that  any  one  whom  she  had  ever 
seen? 

Propped  up  among  pillows,  thin-faced,  and  seri- 
ous-eyed, he  extended  a  slender  hand,  a  faint 
smile  curving  his  lips.  In  an  instant  all  dread 
had  fled,  and  in  its  place  was  a  great  pity  for  the 
man  whom  suffering  had  so  changed. 

"Like  the  great  tree  that  had  been  felled!" 
was  the  startling  simile  that  flashed  through  her 
mind,  and  she  shuddered.  There  was  a  look  of 
pleading  in  his  eyes.  Gently  he  held  her  hand 
for  a  second,  k>oking  fixedly  at  the  lovely  face, 
then: 

"  Sylvia,  girl,"  he  said,  "  there  are  a  few  things 
I  want  to  say  to  you;  things  that  I  intend  you, 
and  only  you  to  know.  I  have  suffered  much  since 
I  last  saw  you." 

She  was  about  to  speak,  but  he  lifted  his  hand, 
as  a  sign  that  he  would  continue:  "  I  was  not 
referring  to  the  accident,  but  rather  to  the  mental 
suffering  I  endured  between  that  day  at  twilight, 
when  you  left  me  on  the  bridge,  and  the  day  when 
Firefly  threw  me. 

''I  was  hurt  and  angry,  angry  with  you,  with 
Blossomville,  with  all  the  world,  Sylvia.  Dur- 
ing those  days,  rumor  told  me  that,  somewhere, 


374        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

there  was  a  lucky  man  who  held  you  dearest  out 
of  all  the  world,  and  to  whom  your  own  pure  heart 
had  been  given  before  I  ever  knew  you.  Sylvia, 
was  that  true?  " 

The  fine  head  nodded  assent,  but  the  eyes 
avoided  his. 

Pity  for  the  wretched  man  filled  her  heart.  A 
lump  in  her  throat  made  it  impossible  for  her  to 
speak. 

"  Look  up,  Sylvia,  little  girl.  I  can  bear  it 
better  now,  for  since  I've  been  lying  here,  I've 
learned  much.  I  can  not  understand  why  I  had 
to  learn  that  love  can  not  be  gained  by  compulsion; 
that  it  must  be  gently  won.  My  heart  was  filled 
with  a  desire  for  venegance,  on  that  day  when  I 
rode  out  onto  the  highway.  In  my  ugly  mood  I 
forgot  to  guide  my  horse.  As  Firefly  took  me 
through  the  lonely  forest,  I  was  conscious  of  in- 
tense hatred  for  my  rival,  whoever  he  might  be. 
Just  at  that  time,  I  believe  that  there  existed  noth- 
ing that  I  did  not  hate  ! 

"  Listen,  girl !  You  wouldn't  think  any  decent 
man  could  dream  of  so  evil  a  thing  as  setting  a 
trap  for  one  whom  he  had  never  seen,  yet  that  is 
what  I  longed  to  do.  My  heart  was  full  of  bit- 
terness. I  vowed  to  know  the  day  and  hour  when 
he  would  come  to  '  The  Three  Birches,'  and  if  he 


RETRIBUTION  375 

would  come  from  the  station  across  the  meadow- 
land.  I  wondered  how  I  could  learn  these  things. 
I  must  not  be  caught  watching,  and  I  could  not 
trust  Giles. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  I  must,  at  that  time,  have 
been  almost  beside  myself.  Then  came  the 
plunge  from  the  saddle.  While  I  lay  out  there 
in  the  storm,  pinned  so  securely  beneath  the 
tree  that  I  could  not  free  myself,  I  could  only  lie 
there  and  think. 

"I  did  think! 

'  This  is  retribution !  '  I  said.  I  knew  suf- 
fering such  as  I  had  been  willing  to  inflict  upon 
another.  Sylvia,  there  is  one  thing  that  I 
want  you  to  believe.  I  thought  only  of  harm- 
ing him,  but  not  once  while  I  was  brooding  and 
jealous  did  it  occur  to  me  that  in  harming  him 
I  should  be  grieving  you. 

!<  I  was  selfish,  cruel,  contemptible.  Sylvia, 
I've  suffered  so  much,  and  so  regret  all  my  harsh- 
ness, my  bitterness,  that  now,  from  my  heart  I 
can  truthfully  say :  *  I  am  sorry,'  and  I  want, 
I  crave  your  forgiveness. 

;<  I  wish  you  all  happiness,  and  every  good  gift 
that  Heaven  may  send  you,  Sylvia,  girl.  I  am 
very  tired  now, —  I  must  rest,  but  before  you  go, 
Sylvia,  can  you  tell  me  I  am  forgiven?  " 


376         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Gently  she  took  the  proffered  hand,  and  a  tear 
fell  softly  upon  it. 

"  I  do,  indeed,  forgive  you,"  she  said  earnestly. 

He  looked  so  weak,  so  unlike  himself,  it  seemed 
idle  to  express  a  hope  of  his  recovery;  but  before 
she  could  think  of  a  comforting  word  to  say,  the 
doctor  entered,  and  she  went  out  into  the  hall,  the 
housekeeper  following  her  to  the  door. 

'  The  doctor  said  he  oughtn't  ter  have  had  any 
callers,"  she  said,  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  but  I  told 
him  he  made  Giles  send  for  yer,  an'  he  says,  says 
he: 

"  '  Don't  let  any  one  else  in  ter  talk  ter  him  'til 
I  say  so.'  ' 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

WHEN  LONGING  TRIUMPHED 

SYLVIA  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  she 
was  once  more  out  on  the  road,  and  walk- 
ing briskly  away  from  the  Elmore  place. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  just  awakened  from  an  un- 
pleasant dream.  Pity  had  driven  fear  from  her 
heart  when  she  had  entered  the  sick  man's  room, 
but  with  pity  had  come  a  sense  of  deep  depression. 
The  sick  man  had  made  his  confession,  had  hum- 
bly begged  for  forgiveness,  and  she  had  felt,  as 
she  looked  down  at  his  pale  face,  his  earnest  eyes, 
that  but  a  few  days  of  life  were  left  for  him.  It 
had  been  a  dreadful  thing  to  see  a  man  so  changed, 
so  weakened,  especially  when  the  man  had  been 
so  rugged  a  specimen  of  humanity. 

Again  she  paused  on  the  bridge,  and  looked 
down  into  the  rippling  stream. 

An  hour  earlier  she  had  stood  thus,  filled  with 
dread  of  the  interview. 

Now,  as  she  watched  the  amber  sunlight  danc- 
ing far  below  the  surface  on  the  bed  of  the  stream, 
a  strange  feeling  of  apprehension,  a  dread  of 

377 


378         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  approaching  date,  that  hitherto  had  held 
for  her  a  promise  of  happiness,  came  over  her. 
Why  did  she  shiver?  She  was  not  cold. 

There  were  two  reasons  for  a  dread  of  the  long- 
anticipated  day. 

The  first,  and  less  important,  was  the  opening 
of  that  closed  door,  on  the  other  side  of  which 
lay  that  silent,  darkened  room,  and  the  secret  that 
it  held. 

The  second,  upon  which  her  loving  heart  dwelt 
with  increasing  anxiety,  was  the  question  if,  when 
that  day  arrived,  Jack,  so  long  silent,  would  come 
to  her. 

No  word  had  yet  come  in  reply  to  either  of  the 
two  letters  that  she  had  sent,  the  first  retracting 
her  earlier  statement  that  he  must  refrain  from 
coming  to  "  The  Three  Birches,"  lest  he  be 
tempted  to  beg  her  to  relinquish  her  determination 
to  remain  at  the  old  house  for  the  prescribed  time. 
She  had  felt  that  for  the  short  time  remaining,  she 
could  withstand  his  pleading,  and  she  had  written 
lovingly,  tenderly. 

The  second,  when  longing  for  him,  had  put 
pride  to  flight,  and  she  had  begged  him  to  come 
to  her. 

That,  too,  had  been  ignored,  and  anger  had 
forced  her  pride  to  assert  itself. 


LONGING  TRIUMPHED        379 

A  long  time  she  stood  leaning  upon  the  railing, 
still  looking  down,  apparently  lost  in  thought. 
When  she  turned  toward  "  The  Three  Birches," 
there  was  a  look  of  resolution  in  the  clear  eyes 
that  told  of  a  new  view  of  some  vexed  question. 
Her  step  was  lighter.  There  was  burning  color  in 
each  cheek,  and  she  seemed  full  of  suppressed  ex- 
citement as  if  she  had  found  a  new  way  out  of  an 
old  difficulty. 

Aunt  Zilla  had  gone  to  the  store,  and  on  the 
table  in  the  living-room  she  had  left  a  little  note, 
saying  that  she  had  thought  of  some  things  that 
were  needed  in  the  house,  and  had  gone  over  to 
the  "  square  "  to  get  them. 

Sylvia  hurried  to  her  room,  and  soon  at  her 
desk  was  writing,  writing,  the  pen  seeming  fairly 
to  fly  over  the  paper. 

The  first  letter  was  soon  written,  and  enclosed 
in  its  envelope,  carefully  addressed,  and  a  stamp 
affixed. 

The  second  epistle  was  evidently  written  with 
more  care.  Often  she  paused,  a  tender  light  in 
her  eyes ;  then  again  she  would  bend  over  the  page, 
and,  for  a  time,  the  scratching  of  the  pen  would 
appear  to  be  endeavoring  to  outdo  the  ticking  of 
the  little  clock  on  the  top  of  the  desk. 

It  was  a  long  letter,  but,  when  she  carefully  read 


380        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

it  over,  it  was  apparently  to  her  liking,  for  she 
touched  it  lightly  with  her  lips,  a  lingering  caress; 
then  placed  it  in  its  envelope,  saw  that  the  address 
was  correct,  put  a  stamp  upon  it,  and  tucked  it 
into  her  girdle. 

With  the  other  letter  in  her  hand,  she  went 
down  to  the  hall.  On  the  lower  stair  she  paused, 
then  retracing  her  steps,  she  opened  both  letters, 
and  laid  them  upon  the  desk  before  her. 

She  had  a  nervous  fear  that  she  had  written  in 
haste,  and  that  consequently  the  letter  to  her 
lawyer  might  have  been  more  concisely  expressed. 
Far  greater  was  her  anxiety  regarding  the  letter  to 
Jack.  She  must  read  it  again. 

His  letter  should  be  so  written  that  whether 
angry,  or  coldly  indifferent,  he  would  feel  com- 
pelled, for  the  sake  of  the  love  that  had  been, 
to  come  to  her  —  no,  that  could  not  be  done. 
She  knew  that  no  letter  could  actually  compel  an 
angry  man,  or  a  coldly  indifferent  man,  to  do  this 
or  that. 

But  if  neither  angry,  nor  cold,  only  deeply 
grieved,  what  then? 

Impatient  of  these  and  other  tormenting  ques- 
tions that  vexed  her  tired  brain,  she  sat  down  to 
carefully  read  the  letters: 


LONGING  TRIUMPHED        381 

"  To  the  Honorable  John  Erl'ington: 

"DEAR  FRIEND  AND  COUNSELOR:  I  remem- 
ber, when  I  was  about  to  take  up  my  residence  in 
the  old  house  at  Blossomville,  you  spoke  of  the 
closed  room,  the  door  of  which  had  been  securely 
fastened,  some  time  prior  to  the  death  of  my  aunt. 
At  the  time,  you  strongly  advised  me  to  have  it 
opened.  You  told  me  that  many  superstitious 
residents  of  the  village  had  circulated  tales  re- 
garding it,  such  tales  being  well  calculated  to  an- 
noy me.  You  believed  that  listening  to  such  gos- 
sip, together  with  constantly  passing  that  door, 
would,  or  at  least  might,  tend  to  make  me  very 
nervous. 

"  I  thought  of  all  that  you  had  said.  I  knew 
if,  when  that  door  was  opened,  there  lay  revealed 
nothing  that  should  have  been  dreaded,  I  should 
then  be  very  glad  that  I  had  listened  to  you.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  anything  was  disclosed  that 
could  increase  my  dread  of  the  place,  then  would 
it  be  impossible  for  me  to  remain  there.  I  have 
now  reached  a  point,  however,  when  each  time  that 
I  pass  that  closed  door  it  is  harder  than  the  time 
before. 

"  Come  and  open  it.  I  cannot  longer  endure 
it !  You  promised  to  come,  if  at  any  time  I  should 
need  you,  to  unbar  the  secret  behind  that  great 
oak  door.  I  need  you,  and  even  if  I  were  dis- 
posed to  take  a  resident  into  my  confidence,  I  do 
not  believe  there  dwells  in  Blossomville  a  man 
with  sufficient  courage  to  draw  a  single  nail  from 
its  place. 


382        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"  Trusting  that  it  may  be  possible  for  you  to 
come  at  once,  I  am, 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"  SYLVIA  DURANT." 

As  if  this  letter  met  with  her  approval,  she 
folded  it,  again  addressed  an  envelope,  and  sealed 
it.  Then  from  her  girdle  she  took  the  other  let- 
ter, and  as  she  opened  it,  she  drew  a  long  breath 
that  was  half  a  sigh : 

"  JACK,  DEAR  JACK: 

"What  does  your  silence  mean?  You  who 
have  always  been  so  gentle  with  me,  so  consider- 
ate, now  leave  my  letters  unanswered,  and  the 
words  for  which  my  heart  longs,  unspoken. 

'  Yet  I  write  thus  more  in  wonder  than  re- 
proof. Were  you  other  than  my  Jack,  manly, 
and  brave,  and  true,  I  would  not  ask  for  a  letter 
now.  I  would  let  the  silence  be  as  long  as  it  might 
please  you  to  have  it. 

"  But,  dearest,  you  were  never  a  creature  of 
moods.  You  were  always  the  same,  my  Jack,  so 
that  I  now  am  wondering  if  something  of  which 
I  am  unaware  has  caused  you  to  remain  away 
from  me,  even  after  twice  being  urged  to  come. 
June  first  is  near  at  hand,  and  on  that  day,  because 
of  the  great  bond  of  true  love  that  has  bound  us,  a 
blessed  bondage  that  holds  me  loyal  to  you,  I  now 
ask  you  to  be  here.  Come,  and  help  me  to  re- 
joice that  I  have  been  given  strength  to  endure 
existence  here.  When  you  come,  and  oh,  I  be- 
lieve you  will,  I  will  tell  you  the  one  great  reason 


LONGING  TRIUMPHED        383 

that  helped  me  to  remain  here,  even  when  I  felt 
my  courage  waning. 

'  Words  can  not  express  my  longing  to  see  you, 
Jack,  to  have  you  with  me  once  more.  Jack,  dear, 
I  believe  I  have  lost  all  the  pride  I  ever  possessed, 
for  now,  at  the  end  of  my  letter  I  plead,  aye,  Jack, 

I  beg  of  you  to  come. 

Always  your  own, 

"  SYLVIA." 

"  If  I  write  it  differently,  it  may  not  be  more 
appealing,"  she  said,  and  for  a  moment  she  sat 
irresolute,  thinking.  Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  I'll  not  change  it!  No,  no,  I  can  not  change 
it  I  "  she  cried,  and  folding  the  letter,  she  pressed 
it  to  her  lips  an  instant;  then  placing  it  in  an  en- 
velope, she  addressed  it,  and  hurried  down  the 
stairs.  Half-way  on  the  road  she  met  Aunt  Zilla. 

'  Why,  Sylvia !  Ye've  got  home  an'  are 
startin'  out  again?  "  she  queried.  "  Was  the  call 
tur'ble  tryin'?  Was  ye  lonesome,  Sylvia?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all  about  the  call  when  I  come 
back,"  Sylvia  replied,  "  but  just  now  I'm  going  to 
mail  two  letters  that  I've  just  written." 

"  All  right.  I'll  walk  along  sorter  slow,  an' 
p'raps  ye'll  ketch  up  with  me,  on  yer  way  back," 
Aunt  Zilla  replied. 

She  turned  to  look  after  the  graceful  figure. 

"  /  mailed  a  letter,  too,"  she  said,  "  but  I  guess 
I'd  better  not  tell  ye,  dear." 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

SURRENDER 

THE  day  had  been  an  unusually  trying  one, 
and  every  one  connected  with  the  firm  of 
Stanwood  &  Broadbent,  from  old  Marcus 
Stanwood,  himself  down  to  the  office  boy,  was 
glad  when  closing  time  came. 

Business  had  been  rushing;  no  one  had  ever 
thought  of  being  patient,  no  one  but  Jack,  but  his 
power  of  endurance  seemed  limitless. 

The  stenographers  had  made  irritating  blun- 
ders; the  office  boy  had  deliberately  admitted  a 
man  whom  Marcus  Stanwood  never  wished  to 
see,  and  the  old  man  had  all  but  "  foamed  at  the 
mouth." 

An  accountant  had  lost  her  purse,  and  unwisely 
presuming  to  mention  the  fact  to  her  employer, 
he  had  roared: 

"  Well,  do  you  expect  me  to  run  out  and  look 
for  it?" 

One  luckless  wight,  whose  desk  was  near  the 
private  office,  carelessly  dropped  a  paperweight, 

384 


SURRENDER  385 

whereupon  the  door  had  opened  with  a  bang,  and 
this  cheering  remark  had  been  shouted  forth: 

"  If  this  infernal  racket  isn't  stopped  at  once, 
I'll  discharge  every  one  of  you!  " 

An  hour  before  closing,  things  were  running  a 
bit  smoother,  but  every  one  was  tired;  and  as 
he  hurried  along  the  street  toward  the  hotel  Jack 
felt  the  effect  of  an  unusually  trying  day. 

The  longing  for  Sylvia  was  daily  becoming 
harder  to  endure. 

The  thought  that  she  was  pledged  to  another 
was  unbearable,  and  to  keep  his  mind  from  dwell- 
ing upon  it  he  had  been  working  harder  than  ever 
before. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  office,  the  postman 
had  put  two  letters  into  his  hand,  and  without 
looking  at  them,  he  had  thrust  them  into  his 
pocket. 

After  dinner,  he  went  to  his  room,  slipped  into 
a  lounging  coat,  removed  his  right  shoe  and  gaiter, 
substituting  a  low  pump.  Before  changing  the 
other  shoe,  he  suddenly  thought  of  the  letters. 

He  went  over  to  the  chair  on  which  his  coat 
was  lying,  took  them  from  the  pocket,  and  tossed 
them  upon  the  desk,  where  they  landed,  face  down- 
ward. 

He  had  intended  to  smoke  while  reading  them, 


386        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

but,  for  the  moment,  could  not  remember  where 
he  had  laid  his  cigar  case,  so  picked  up  the  envelope 
nearest  to  his  hand,  and  stared  at  the  unfamiliar 
writing. 

He  opened  it,  and  expression  of  amazement 
overspread  his  fine  face. 

"  DEAR  MR.  JACK  STANWOOD: 

"  I  don't  think  Sylvia  can  hold  out  'til  June  first 
'thout  you  come.  Not  that  she's  sick.  She  ain't, 
but  she  ain't  bright  and  cheery  like  herself. 

"  They  is  one  person  here  that  has  pestered  her 
perpetooal,  but  I  guess  he  understands  now  that 
Sylvia  can't  noways  abide  him. 

"  He  stays  away  now,  part  'cause  he  knows  he 
might  as  well,  an'  part  'cause  he's  flat  on  his  back, 
hevin'  endured  some  jolt  off'n  his  horse.  Ye  must 
know  the  time  fer  waitin'  is  'bout  up,  an'  when  ye 
know  Sylvia's  reason  fer  stayin'  here,  ye'll  feel 
some  different  than  ye  hev.  I  declare,  I  hope  ye'll 
come  soon,  fer  she  looks  so  I'm  worried. 
'  Yours  to  command, 

"  DRUSILLA  BOND." 

The  quaint  letter  bore  neither  date,  nor  the 
writer's  address,  and  for  a  second  Jack  looked 
puzzled. 

"  Drusilla  Bond?  "  he  said;  then:  "  Aunt  Zilla! 
The  dear,  good  soul  1  She  surely  means  well,  but 
I  wonder  if  — " 

A  bit  of  hope,  a  ray  of  light  — 


SURRENDER  387 

He  picked  up  the  second  letter.  Ah,  the  fami- 
liar hand! 

"  From  Sylvia !  "  burst  from  his  lips,  as  his 
nervous  fingers  tore  open  the  envelope.  In  eager 
haste  he  read  her  earnest,  tender  pleading. 

"Thank  God!"  he  cried,  "Sylvia  is,  and  al- 
ways has  been,  mine !  " 

Three  times  he  read  the  precious  letter  that 
had  raised  him  from  wretched  doubting  to  great- 
est happiness.  Then  he  thrust  it  into  his  breast 
pocket,  and,  as  if  he  had  not  a  moment  to  spare, 
commenced  tossing  things  into  his  suit-case.  So 
engrossed  was  he  that  he  did  not  hear  Trefton 
enter. 

"Hello!     What's  up?" 

Jack  turned,  and  replied,  "  Just  trying  to  make 
a  train  that  I  must  get,  that's  all." 

'  'Pon  my  soul,  Jack,  you  do  appear  to  be 
rushing  matters.  Looks  's  though  you  needed 
help  when  you  chuck  your  hair-brush  in  with  your 
ties. 

"  Say !  Do  you  know  you're  wearing  shoes 
that  are  not  mates?  One  patent  pump,  and  one 
boot  with  a  gaiter  won't  do.  Makes  you  look  a 
trifle  loony. 

"  Say,  Jack!  Are  you  half-mad?  You've  not 
a  word  for  yours  truly,  but  you  keep  on  stuff- 


388         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

ing  that  infernal  suit-case.  It'll  have  an  at- 
tack of  acute  indigestion  if  you're  not  careful. 
For  Heaven's  sake,  Jack,  stop  long  enough  to  catch 
your  breath,  and  swap  this  boot  and  gaiter  for 
that  pump !  Wherever  you're  going,  I'd  like  you 
to  land  looking  sane!  " 

Jack  laughed,  and  it  was  the  happy,  care-free 
laugh  Trefton  had  not  heard  for  a  year. 

"  Donald,  I'm  off  to  see  the  best  girl  in  the 
world.  Wish  me  joy,  if  you  can.  I  know  your 
views  and  mine  differ,  but  that  has  never  marred 
our  friendship. 

"  I've  not  been  very  good  company  the  last  few 
months,  but  matters  that  worried  me  have  righted 
themselves,  and  when  I  return  you  may  have  to 
work  as  hard  to  keep  me  circumspect  as  you  have 
in  your  effort  to  cheer  me." 

Jack  caught  up  the  suit-case,  and  was  off. 
"  Don't  know  just  what  day  I'll  be  back,  Donald. 
See  you  soon  's  I  return,"  he  said. 

The  elevator  man  was  half  way  down  the  hall 
talking  to  a  crony,  and  Jack  rushed  for  the  stair- 
way, Trefton  closely  following. 

A  crowd  of  homeward  bound  pedestrians  jostled 
each  other  on  the  sidewalk,  and  in  the  throng  Jack 
disappeared,  having  hailed  a  taxi-cab  that  had  just 
drawn  up  at  the  curb. 


SURRENDER  389 

Trefton  sprang  into  a  doorway,  and  mounting 
its  single  step,  peered  over  the  heads  of  those  who 
had  rushed  between  Jack  and  himself. 

"No  use!"  he  ejaculated.  "Gone  off  half- 
cracked  just  as  he  did  once  before,  and  that  time 
it  was  a  woman,  too !  Knowing  Jack  as  well  as 
I  do,  it's  safe  to  bet  it's  the  same  woman!  He's 
true  as  steel !  Discouraging,  just  when  I  thought 
I'd  converted  him  to  the  faith  of  the  '  Brother- 
hood of  Bachelors  ' !  " 

It  was  a  long  walk  back  to  his  rooms,  and  when 
he  had  let  himself  in,  he  slowly  removed  his 
gloves,  laid  them  with  his  hat  on  the  desk,  threw 
his  coat  on  a  chair,  and  sat  down  on  a  low, 
cushioned  window-seat  to  think  matters  over. 
After  a  time  he  spoke,  hardly  above  a  whisper: 
"  That's  the  third  friend  and  chum  I've  lost,  and 
in  each  case  it  was  a  woman  that  did  it.  All 
three  married !  Last  season  I  thought,  for  a  time, 
that  Jack  was  going  the  same  way,  but  for  months 
he  has  been  so  awful  quiet  that  I  believed  he  was 
safe,  and  here  he's  off  somewhere  to-night,  the 
Lord  only  knows  where,  and  acting  as  loony  as 
either  of  the  others  did !  " 

He  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  and 
fell  to  thinking. 

He  had  been  sitting  an  hour  thus,  when  sud- 


390         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

denly  he  rose  and  strode  across  the  room  to  the 
bureau. 

"  You  look  just  as  you  feel,"  he  remarked  to 
the  reflection.  "  Just  as  you  feel"  he  repeated, 
"  and  this  keeping  up  a  perpetual  bluff  to  convince 
the  other  fellows  that  you  don't  care  for  girls, 
and  that  you  enjoy  single-blessedness  is  hard 
work." 

Then  a  grim  smile  curved  his  lips. 

"  Maybe  she'd  '  back  down,'  if  I  gave  her  the 
chance.  I  said  I'd  hold  out  till  doomsday,  but 
what's  the  use?" 

He  stood  a  moment  irresolute.  It  would  be 
maddening,  yes,  and  humiliating  to  appear  at  her 
house,  only  to  be  informed  that  she  was  "  not  at 
home." 

He  sat  down  at  the  desk  and  took  the  telephone 
as  a  mediator. 

His  "  remarks "  regarding  the  slowness,  and 
dilatory  methods  of  all  employees  of  telephone 
companies,  this  one  in  particular,  were  sharp  and 
to  the  point. 

At  last  he  was  rewarded. 

"Hello!" 

"Ah!  "under  his  breath. 

"  I'd  like  to  talk  with  Miss  Ardmore." 

"  Yes." 


SURRENDER  391 

"Yes." 

"  Oh,  this  is  Miss  Ardmore  speaking?  " 

"  Well  this  is  Mr.  Trefton." 

"  Yes,  it's  Donald  Trefton.  You  never  used 
to  bother  about  using  the  entire  name.  Donald 
used  to  do  nicely,  and,  —  what?  Oh,  I  said  Miss 
Ardmore.  Well,  Fanny,  if  you'll  be  at  home  this 
evening,  and  would  like  to  see  me,  I'll  come  over, 
and  —  Say,  what's  to  prevent  calling  you  all  the 
things  I  used  to  call  you?  What?  You'll  be 
glad  to  see  me?  Fanny,  the  months,  and  weeks, 
and  days  since  I  last  was  with  you  have  been,  — 
It's  imposible  to  tell  you  over  the  'phone.  I'll 
tell  you  later  when  I'm  with  you.  And  Fanny ! 
I'll  not  be  keeping  you  from  some  pleasure  you'd 
planned  to  enjoy?  Dear,  do  you  mean  that? 
Then  look  for  me  to-night!  " 

He  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"  There,  that's  attended  to.  I've  '  backed 
down,'  or  the  same  thing.  '  I  spoke  first,'  as  the 
kiddies  say,  but  Fanny  was  a  regular  trump.  No 
foolish  pride  or  stubborn  will  in  Fanny.  Act- 
ually said  she  could  hardly  wait  for  me  to  come !  " 

Oh,  the  glad  note  in  his  voice !  It  was  early 
yet,  but  in  his  present  state  of  mind,  he  could  not 
sit  quietly  down  to  read  the  paper.  Instead  he 
paced  the  floor  for  a  time,  thinking  of  the  eager 


392         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

little  catch  in  Fanny's  voice,  of  her  sweet  relent- 
ing. His  eyes  were  alight  with  the  new,  or  rather 
the  return  of  the  old,  happiness.  His  firm  lips  had 
lost  their  tight  set  line,  and  a  faint  smile  parted 
them.  Happening  to  catch  sight  of  himself  in 
the  mirror,  he  paused  before  it. 

"  Say,  my  friend !  You've  grown  five  years 
younger  since  you  looked  out  at  me  a  short  time 
ago,  and  all  because  of  the  sound  of  a  beloved 
voice  over  the  'phone.  At  the  same  rate  of  re- 
juvenation, I  ought  to  look  like  a  mere  lad  when 
I  return  from  the  Ardmore  home  to-night. 

"  Wonder  if  Jack  will  chaff  me  about  the 
'  Brotherhood  of  Bachelors.'  Guess  not! 

"  Under  the  circumstances,  he  can't  afford  to !  " 


CHAPTER  XLVIII 

WHEN   DREAMS    CAME   TRUE 

A  LIBERAL  tip  in  the  driver's  hand  had 
caused  him  to  make  all  possible  speed  to- 
ward the  station,  but  whenever  traffic 
choked  the  way,  and  the  taxi  was  forced  to  pause, 
Jack  anxiously  scanned  his  watch,  for  well  he  knew 
that  Blossomville  boasted  but  two  trains  daily.  If 
he  missed  the  evening  train,  he  would  be  forced 
to  wait  until  the  morrow,  and  he  was  in  no  mood 
for  waiting.  He  had  had  enough  of  waiting. 

"  Only  twelve  minutes  more  and  going  at  a 
snail's  pace!  "  he  growled. 

Again  the  taxi  stopped. 

"  Say,  beat  it!  "  Jack  roared. 

"Aw!  Can't  ye  see  th'  mob?"  retorted  the 
disgusted  driver. 

'  Well,  drive  over  or  under  it,  I  don't  care 
which,  but  make  that  train  for  me  and  you'll  get 
another  tip.  See?" 

The  driver  "  saw."  A  tip  often  excels  the  skill 
of  an  oculist. 

393 


394         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Arrived  at  the  station,  Jack  thrust  a  bill  into 
the  fellow's  hand,  muttered:  "  No  change,"  and 
bolted  for  the  train. 

"  Them  crazy  loon'tics  allus  pays  well,"  the 
driver  remarked,  as  he  pocketed  the  bill;  then 
turned  his  attention  to  securing  another  passenger. 

Jack  made  his  way  through  the  crowded  sta- 
tion and  boarded  the  train  just  as  it  was  about 
to  start. 

There  were  plenty  of  vacant  seats,  and  he 
slipped  into  one,  thankful  that  he  was  already 
speeding  over  the  rails.  The  evening  paper  lay 
on  the  seat  next  the  one  in  which  he  sat.  What 
was  that  headline? 

He  saw  the  name  "  Sylvia,"  and,  with  a  quick- 
ened pulse,  leaned  to  read. 

"  Only  a  yacht  christened,"  he  whispered,  and 
he  read  no  further.  There  was  but  one  Sylvia 
for  him,  and  she  had  said  that  she  longed  to  see 
him! 

"  And  I'll  soon  be  with  her,"  he  thought. 

He  had  taken  a  rear  seat,  and  now,  for  the 
first  time,  he  looked  ahead  at  the  other  passen- 
gers. There  were  but  five  beside  himself. 

Across  the  aisle  a  young  man  was  earnestly  talk- 
ing to  the  girl  beside  him.  Jack  did  not  notice  the 
man,  but  the  girl's  face  he  could  plainly  see.  He 


WHEN  DREAMS  CAME  TRUE     395 

thought  her  ordinary.  He  wondered  how  any 
fellow  could  be  interested  in  a  girl  like  that.  How 
inferior  she  was  to  Sylvia ! 

Then  he  remembered  that  every  girl  could  not 
look  like  Sylvia,  and  he  laughed  softly.  Sylvia 
was  his,  and  there  was  no  one  like  Sylvia ! 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  pair  that  he  had 
been  watching  sat  two  big  women  who  had  been 
conversing  in  whispers,  but  gathering  courage,  as 
the  trip  progressed,  were  now  loudly  talking. 

"  I  told  her  not  to  take  complexion  wafers  if 
she  had  bought  'em.  '  You'd  'nough  sight  better 
throw  'em  away,  an'  lose  yer  money,'  says  I,  '  than 
pizen  yer  system.'  ' 

"  And  did  she  take  'em?  "  eagerly  inquired  the 
big  chemical  blonde. 

"  Did  she  ?  Of  course  she  did.  She'd  take 
cy'nde  er  potass'um  ef  she'd  paid  good  money  fer 
it !  Oh,  I  tell  ye,  she's  a  reg'lar  — " 

A  train-man  entered  and  ended  the  conversation 
by  loudly  bawling: 

"  All  passengers  leave  this  car  at  next  station, 
and  take  fust  train  that  'rives.  This  train  goes 
no  farther!  " 

The  two  big  women  pried  their  bulky  forms 
from  their  seats,  and  the  blonde  made  for  the 
luckless  train-man. 


396         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  she  demanded.  "Why 
do  we  git  off  at  the  next  station?  This  train, 
don't  never  stop  'fore  we  'rive  at  Bantam- 
ville." 

"  Th'  ain't  no  such  station,"  growled  the  man. 

He  backed  toward  the  door,  but  the  big  woman 
clutched  his  sleeve. 

"Ain't  no  such  station?"  she  asked  with  fine 
scorn.  "  That's  the  place  I  come  from!  " 

"  Ye  come  f'm  Bantamville !  "  he  cried.  "  Wai, 
ye  must  'a  '  looked  out  o'  place  there,"  and  wrig- 
gling from  her  grasp,  he  made  a  rush  for  the 
door,  and  escaped. 

The  train  was  already  slowing  down,  and  the 
passengers  made  haste  to  gather  up  their  belong- 
ings. There  had  been  an  accident  on  the  road,  the 
conductor  said,  as  they  left  the  train  —  a  minor 
accident,  but  sufficient  to  delay  traffic  for  a  short 
time.  Another  train  would  pick  them  up  a  bit 
later. 

The  two  big  women  lunged  toward  the  bench 
by  the  station  door,  landed  safely  upon  it,  and 
resumed  their  interrupted  confab. 

The  lanky  youth  and  neutral-tinted  girl  left  the 
platform,  intent  upon  enjoying  a  stroll  while  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  train. 

A  sedate,  elderly  man,  tall  and  spare,  stood  at 


WHEN  DREAMS  CAME  TRUE     397 

the  far  end  of  the  platform,  apparently  in  a  brown 
study. 

Jack,  pacing  restlessly  up  and  down,  wondered 
how  any  live  man  could  stand  so  long  in  one  spot, 
holding  the  same  pose,  and,  for  all  one  could  tell, 
thinking  the  same  thought. 

He  remembered  a  gray  pelican  that  he  had  once 
seen  in  the  park,  standing  as  motionless  as  that 
thin  gray-clad  man.  He  thought  the  appearance 
of  man  and  bird  wonderfully  like. 

The  simile  was  not  so  bad. 

The  Honorable  John  Erlington  could  be  as 
silent  and  motionless  as  the  big  bird,  but  those 
who  best  knew  him  were  well  aware  that,  active 
or  tranquil,  his  eyes  were  ever  watchful.  When 
he  did  move,  it  was  with  a  carefully  planned  pur- 
pose, and  like  the  pelican,  with  unerring  skill,  he 
snatched  the  prize  for  which  he  had  been  watching. 

Just  now  his  mind  was  occupied  with  thoughts 
of  Sylvia,  of  the  lonely  house,  of  her  courage  in 
remaining  there. 

"  A  wonderfully  brave  girl,"  he  muttered. 
'  Nine  out  of  ten  would  have  knuckled  to  a  rich 
relative  like  Mrs.  Van  Horn,  and  have  married 
any  one  that  she  suggested,  rather  than  lose  the 
Van  Horn  millions.  Ah,  but  a  surprise  awaits 
Sylvia  Durant!  " 


398         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Jack  had  become  weary  of  tramping  up  and 
down  the  platform ;  the  lanky  youth  and  his  lassie 
had  returned  from  their  stroll;  the  two  stout 
women,  having  discussed  all  of  their  mutual  ac- 
quaintances, sat  bored  and  listless,  no  other  sub- 
ject having  presented  itself. 

Would  the  train  never  come? 

At  the  very  moment  when  the  would-be  travel- 
ers had  begun  to  feel  that  patience  had  ceased  to 
be  a  virtue,  a  headlight  peeped  around  the  bend, 
and  soon  the  train  had  drawn  up  at  the  little  sta- 
tion, and  the  six  occupants  of  the  platform  had 
clambered  aboard,  each  breathing  a  sigh  of  relief 
that  once  more  he  was  on  his  way. 

Time  again  passed  wearily. 

It  was  dawn  when  the  train-man  thrust  his  head 
in  at  the  open  door  to  shout:  "  Blossomville ! 
Blossomville !  " 

Only  two  left  the  train,  Jack  Stanwood  and  the 
old  lawyer.  The  tall,  spare  figure  headed  at  once 
for  the  tavern  in  the  square.  Jack  stood  at  the 
roadside,  and  looked  across  the  dew-laden  fields 
and  meadows.  He  had  taken  a  short  cut  across 
those  very  meadows  earlier  in  the  year  because 
thus  he  could  sooner  reach  the  house.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  had  arrived  at  the  little  station  at  Blos- 
somville at  an  hour  so  early  that  he  believed  Sylvia 


WHEN  DREAMS  CAME  TRUE     399 

to  be  still  asleep  and  dreaming.  Even  industrious 
Aunt  Zilla  would  hardly  be  astir. 

The  road  would  be  a  longer  route,  and  by 
desperate  restraint  upon  his  eagerness  he  could 
force  himself  to  walk  slowly.  He  longed  to  see 
"  The  Three  Birches "  with  its  vine  wreathed 
porch  and  swinging  sign. 

And  Sylvia  had  written ;  had  urged  him  to  come ! 
How  the  thought  warmed  his  heart  and  set  it  beat- 
ing. Unconsciously  his  pace  quickened.  He 
could  walk  around  the  old  house,  as  if  he  were  on 
guard.  He  could  look  to  where  the  friendly 
trumpet-vine  climbed  upward  to  her  window,  and, 
with  loving  tendrils,  clung  to  the  blind,  its  branches 
dancing  in  the  soft  breeze,  and  peeping  in. 

The  road  curved,  and  there  above  the  trees  was 
a  spiral  of  smoke,  blue  and  pearly  in  the  morning 
light.  Aunt  Zilla,  the  energetic,  was  already  "  up 
and  doing."  A  bit  nearer,  and  he  would  see  the 
old  garden.  Ah,  there  it  was  —  the  clump  of 
white  birches  standing  out  against  the  dark  forest 
trees  as  if  proclaiming: 

"  For  us  the  old  house  was  named !  " 

The  untrimmed  shrubbery  overhung  the  sag- 
ging fence,  the  locust  trees  swung  their  scented  clus- 
ters, but  above  the  riot  of  foliage  rose  the  roof  of 
the  old  house,  moss  grown,  yet  dominant. 


400         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

For  a  moment  Jack  looked  at  the  curling  smoke ; 
then  at  that  upper  window  that  he  knew  to  be 
hers.  If  only  she  would  look  out  upon  the  gar- 
den! He  would  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sweet 
face,  the  bright  hair,  and  he  would  call  to  her. 
No,  that  might  startle  her,  it  was  yet  so  early,  but 
if  she  — 

Softly  he  heard  the  well-loved  voice  singing  the 
song  that  had  always  been  his  favorite: 

"  Blue  the  sky,  bright  the  flowers, 

Sunshine  on  the  lea, 
Earth  seems  fair  because  to-day 
My  love  will  come  to  me." 

She  was  walking  slowly  along  the  path,  toward 
the  gate;  he  could  see  the  white  gown  through 
the  shrubbery.  He  could  wait  no  longer. 

"  Sylvia  !  "  he  cried,  hurrying  forward. 

He  saw  her  run  down  the  path,  push  the  gate 
open,  and  rush  toward  him,  her  arms  extended. 
Her  face  was  radiant,  but  the  great  joy,  the  glad 
surprise  of  his  early  coming,  sent  a  sudden  weak- 
ness over  her.  She  reeled,  and  would  have  fallen 
but  for  the  strong  arms  that  caught  her,  and  held 
her  close. 

"  Darling,"  he  whispered,  as  he  laid  his  lips 
to  hers. 

"  Jack,  my  Jack,"  she  murmured,  clinging  to 


WHEN  DREAMS  CAME  TRUE     401 

him,  her  soft  eyes  looking  up  at  him  as  if  to  make 
sure  that  this  was  not  a  dream  lover. 

Long  they  stood  thus  beneath  the  over-arching 
trees,  her  head  against  his  breast,  his  arms  about 
her.  They  were  whispering  those  things  which 
all  lovers  whisper,  for  although  no  living  being 
was  in  sight  their  confidences  were  too  sweet,  too 
sacred  to  be  shared  even  with  the  vagrant  breeze. 
Later  they  strolled  through  the  old  garden,  and 
the  tangle  of  weeds  and  tall  flowering  shrubs  that 
had  seemed  so  lonely  now  appeared  an  enchant- 
ing spot. 

Her  lover,  her  Jack  walked  close  beside  her, 
and  that  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world ! 

Aunt  Zilla,  from  the  kitchen  window,  espied 
them,  and  noting  their  happiness,  addressed  a  re- 
mark to  the  range. 

"  Guess  I  may  's  well  shet  off  the  fire,  an'  delay 
breakfast  a  bit.  No  two  people  in  such  a 
heavenly  state  as  that  could  come  right  down  ter 
eatin'.  I'll  make  the  descent  gradooal.  Some 
time  this  forenoon  they  may  begin  ter  reelize 
they're  hungry,  'tho'  I  ain't  sure!  Lor'  me!  I 
s'pose  I  acted  jest  like  that  when  Jehiel  Bond  was 
a-courtin'  me !  " 

The  underbrush  at  the  side  of  the  road  shook 
as  if  some  one  or  something  were  crawling  along 


402        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

the  ground,  and  the  wriggling  foliage  showed  that 
the  object,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  making  rapid 
headway.  Not  until  it  reached  a  place  far  from 
the  old  house  did  it  venture  to  come  forth. 

There,  after  peering  through  the  bushes,  and 
learning  that  no  one  was  in  sight,  it  arose  stiffly, 
and  looked  back  along  the  road.  It  was  Josh 
Lumley. 

"  Who  in  time  was  that?  "  he  inquired  of  the 
landscape,  which,  with  its  usual  reticence,  made 
no  reply.  "  Here  I've  spent  days  an'  days 
a-watchin',  but  I  ain't  never  seen  that  feller.  No- 
body else  has,  nuther,"  he  added  with  prodigal 
use  of  negatives. 

"  Makes  me  mad  ter  think  myself  so  all-fired 
'cute  an'  then  find  somethin'  has  been  goin'  on  right 
under  my  nose,  an'  I  never  seen  it!  Ef  the  gal 
feels  like  that  toward  that  feller,  no  wonder  the 
Squire  come  out  short.  A  fine  gal  ain't  dividin' 
that  sort  o'  feelin'  'mongst  num'rous  friends. 
She  squanders  it  all  on  one  lucky  chap !  Wai,  I 
hope  he's  worthy.  That's  all  I've  got  ter  say 
'bout  it,  fer  she's  fit  fer  a  prince,  as  all  Blossom- 
ville  would  say!  " 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

REVEALED 

AN  hour  later,  having  partaken  of  an  exceed- 
ingly light  breakfast,  which  they  had  eaten 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  not  offending  Aunt 
Zilla,  they  left  the  dining-room,  going  out  into 
the  hall  —  there  to  enjoy  the  fresh  breeze  that 
had  come  up  with  the  sun. 

Laddie,  having  been  properly  introduced,  had 
gravely  offered  his  paw,  evidently  accepting  Jack 
as  a  friend  because  Sylvia  seemed  to  wish  it. 

Up  and  down  the  hall  he  stalked  beside  Sylvia, 
glancing  around  her  at  Jack,  as  if  wondering  why 
this  man  occupied  her  attention  to  the  exclusion 
of  himself. 

The  great  door  stood  open,  and  John  Erlington 
entered,  before  either  had  heard  his  approach. 

"  Well,  well,  Miss  Sylvia,  right  glad  am  I  to 
see  you  looking  so  cheerful  this  morning.  You 
are  light-hearted  because  so  soon  you  will  be  free 
to  leave  the  old  house." 

'  The  freedom  will  be  sweet,"  Sylvia  said,  "  and 
403 


404        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Mr.  Erlington,  this  is  Mr.  Stanwood,  whose  story 
and  mine  were  confided  to  you  some  time  ago. 
Jack,  Mr.  Erlington  was  my  Aunt  Sylvia's  attor- 
ney. He  has  been  my  counselor  and  now  will  be 
our  advisor  and  friend." 

"  Indeed  I  will,  and  gladly,"  the  old  lawyer 
responded. 

"  And  we  shall  need  you,  I  am  sure,"  Jack  said 
cordially. 

"  I  have  come,  at  your  request,  to  open  the 
closed  door.  At  one  time,  your  aunt  vaguely 
hinted  to  me  that  curios  of  great  value  were  stored 
there,  and  that  she  spent  much  of  her  time  there. 
I  never  saw  that  room,  so  that  I  am  as  much  in 
the  dark  as  you  are  as  to  what  lies  concealed 
there.  Do  you  wish  me  first  to  enter,  learn  its 
secret  and  then  summon  you?  " 

Closely  he  regarded  Sylvia  as  he  asked  the 
question. 

"  Last  night  I  would  have  begged  you  to  do 
that,  but  now,  with  Jack  beside  me,  I'll  not  fear," 
she  said. 

Aunt  Zilla  now  joined  them,  and  was  surprised 
to  find  that  the  lawyer's  bag  held  some  well-chosen 
tools  brought  for  the  occasion. 

u  Let  me  help  you,  sir,"  Jack  said,  stepping  for- 
ward, and  between  them  they  managed  to  draw 


REVEALED  405 

the  great  nails  that  had  been  driven  into  the  solid 
oak. 

Each  time  the  door  was  shaken  with  their 
efforts,  groans,  such  as  had  terrified  Sylvia,  came 
from  behind  its  oaken  paneling. 

Laddie,  lying  near,  his  head  upon  his  paws, 
uttered  a  low,  answering  growl. 

"What  can  it  be?"  whispered  Sylvia,  leaning 
heavily  upon  the  arm  of  the  great  hall  chair  upon 
which  she  had  sunk. 

Aunt  Zilla's  curiosity  was  great,  but  her  fear 
was  greater,  and  she  fled  to  the  rear  of  the  house 
on  pretense  of  finishing  some  neglected  task. 

"  Sylvia  's  safe  with  them  two  men.  Ef  she 
was  extry  scaret,  they'd  be  so  oc'pied  comfortin' 
her,  they  wouldn't  even  know  'f  I  fell  inter  a  reg- 
'lar  spasm,  yes,  an'  flat  on  the  floor,  too.  Beauty 
's  a  gret  thing  fer  raisin'  valor.  Tis  so,  fer  a 
fact !  "  She  smiled  grimly.  She  heard  them  still 
struggling  to  open  the  door. 

At  last  the  nails  were  removed.  The  great 
bolts  creaked  as  John  Erlington  withdrew  them. 
The  key  grated  in  the  rusty  lock.  Jack  turned 
to  Sylvia,  and  seeing  her  pallor,  went  to  her,  drew 
her  close,  and  whispered:  "  Courage,  dear,  I'll 
enter  with  you." 

Still  the  key  resisted,  then  suddenly  it  turned, 


406        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

but  the  sagging  door  was  obstinate,  yielding  only 
when  John  Erlington,  with  a  quick  lunge,  threw 
his  weight  against  it. 

A  breath  of  mold  and  dampness  swept  out  from 
that  room,  and  as  he  lighted  the  candles  in  the 
sconces  a  strange,  fantastic  arrangement  of  ob- 
jects and  curios  glittered  in  the  flickering  light. 
He  had  groped  his  way  in  the  darkness,  but  a 
lighted  match  had  revealed  sconces  well  up  on 
the  wall  near  which  he  was  standing. 

Sylvia,  clinging  to  her  lover,  looked  about  her, 
wide  eyed,  and  awed.  Something  akin  to  that 
which  she  had  felt,  upon  first  seeing  the  charred 
logs,  the  guttered  candle,  and  the  open  book,  on 
that  first  day,  crept  over  her,  and  nothing  seemed 
real  save  the  strong  arm  about  her. 

The  shutters  were  still  on  the  windows,  the  light 
from  the  porch  doorway  too  distant  to  throw  a 
ray  into  that  lonely  room.  The  wavering  light 
from  the  candles  caused  all  projecting  objects  to 
throw  long,  hobgoblin  shadows  upon  the  walls. 
Hangings  of  dark  smoke-gray  silk  made  a  dismal 
background  for  an  array  of  Japanese  swords  in 
cunningly  lacquered  scabbards,  over  which  rep- 
tiles crawled. 

Hideous  masks  hung  with  the  swords.  Masks 
with  ivory  horns  set  in  stiff,  wiry  hair.  Frowning 


REVEALED  407 

masks,  with  bulging,  bloodshot  eyes.  Grinning, 
demon-like  masks,  with  huge  teeth  and  red,  pro- 
truding tongues. 

It  was  the  lawyer  who  first  broke  the  silence ! 
"  Small  wonder  that  your  aunt,  and  godmother, 
spending  the  greater  part  of  each  day  in  this 
room,  became  peculiar!  " 

He  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  a  bronze  figure  in 
a  sort  of  shrine  attracted  his  attention. 

It  was  evidently  an  idol,  its  robes  lacquered  red, 
its  shrine  covered  with  wonderful  designs  in 
mother-of-pearl. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  base  of  the  throne, 
and  a  hollow  groan  came  apparently  from  the 
mouth  of  the  figure.  Its  ugly  head  was  moving 
slowly  up  and  down.  Not  one  of  the  hideous 
masks  was  as  horrible  as  the  face  of  that  idol. 

Sylvia  seemed  unable  to  turn  her  gaze  from 
the  fearful  face. 

"  Is  it  from  that  frightful  figure  that  those 
dreadful  groans  come?  How  can  it  be?  How 
could  a  bronze  idol  utter  — " 

'  Its  head  is  hung  in  some  manner,  so  that  what- 
ever jars  the  house,  if  ever  so  slightly,  sets  it  nod- 
ding, and  the  groaning  is  really  the  sound  of 
the  metal  neck  grating  upon  the  metal  body. 
Whether  it  was  accident  or  design  that  hung  the 


408         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

head  so  as  to  make  it  seem  to  utter  fearful  sounds 
I  do  not  know,"  John  Erlington  said.  "  Of  one 
thing  I  am  certain:  Few  girls,  however  deter- 
mined, would  have  remained  here,  and  this  dear 
girl  would  never  have  endured  the  ordeal  for  her 
own  profit.  It  was  wholly  for  you,  Mr.  Stan- 
wood,  and  I  — " 

"  For  me!  "  interrupted  Jack.  "  Why,  sir,  I 
have  begged  her  to  give  it  up." 

"  Jack,  Jack!  It  was,  it  was  for  you,  dear,  that 
I  came  here.  Aunt  Daphne  vowed  to  disinherit 
me,  because  I  would  not  marry  the  man  whom  she 
chose  for  me,  and  at  the  same  time  she  said  that 
I  would  be  no  help-meet,  only  a  hindrance,  a 
mill-stone  around  your  neck,  dear,  if  I  came  to 
you  empty  handed. 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  that  thirty  thousand  dollars 
goes  with  this  old  house,  and  there  is  other  prop- 
erty in  New  York.  Do  you  yet  know,  Mr.  Erl- 
ington, what  that  is  worth?  It  won't  be  a  for- 
tune, but  oh,  it  is  worth  while !  " 

"  Be  a  bit  careful  about  that  statement,  my 
dear,"  he  said,  his  small  gray  eyes  twinkling,  "  for 
at  the  present  time  the  New  York  property  shows 
a  valuation  of  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  million,  and 
there  is  yet  a  parcel  of  real  estate,  the  value  of 
which  we  have  yet  to  determine." 


REVEALED  409 

For  a  moment  Sylvia  stood  as  if  stunned  by  the 
knowledge  that  she  had  reaped  so  rich  a  reward 
for  her  courage  and  endurance.  Then  like  a 
flash  she  turned  to  Jack,  her  eyes  like  stars. 

"Oh,  Jack!"  she  cried,  "Aunt  Daphne  can't 
call  me  '  empty-handed  '  now,  and  best  of  all,  she 
knows  that  you  loved  me  when  you  thought  I  had 
no  possessions." 

"  Sylvia,  my  Sylvia,  I  did  indeed,"  Jack  said 
earnestly. 

"  I  congratulate  you  both,"  the  lawyer  said, 
"  and  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  have  found  it  very 
hard  during  this  long  year  faithfully  to  live  up 
to  the  instructions  given  me  in  a  letter  written 
by  Mrs.  Sylvia  Durant.  In  it  she  stated  that  you 
might,  if  you  wished,  open  this  room  at  any  time, 
or  wait  until  the  year  was  ended,  but  on  one  thing 
she  was  firm. 

"  She  insisted  that  I  test  your  bravery  by  encour- 
aging you  to  remain  here,  and  that  I  keep  the 
secret  as  to  the  amount  of  your  inheritance  until 
within  a  few  days  of  the  time  that  you  were  to 
receive  it. 

"These  strange  and  hideous  curios  were  some 
that  her  husband  had  collected,  and  while  she 
abhorred  them,  she  persisted  in  living  with  them 
because  the  man  whom  she  had  dearly  loved  so 


410        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

valued  them.  This  she  told  me,  but  she  did  not 
tell  what  sort  of  objects  formed  the  collection. 

"  Her  grief,  her  loneliness,  wore  upon  her,  and 
these  hideous  curios  constantly  before  her  made 
the  isolation  harder  to  bear.  She  said  and  did 
many  strange  things,  among  them  her  expressed 
desire  that  you,  Sylvia,  used  to  a  bright,  gay  ex- 
istence, should  spend  a  year  in  this  house  which, 
she  admitted,  had  made  of  her  a  more  gloomy 
woman  than  before  her  residence  here.  To  do 
her  justice,  I  believe  she  thought  that  your  Aunt 
Daphne  had  made  such  a  fashionable  butterfly 
of  you,  that  the  year  of  enforced  quiet  might  really 
prove  beneficial." 

"  Ah  — !  "  Sylvia,  bending  over  a  quaint  table, 
was  eagerly  reading  from  a  sheet  of  paper  placed 
beneath  the  heavy  plate  glass  top.  Jack  was  at 
her  side  in  an  instant,  and  reading  the  lines  to 
which  she  pointed. 

Lawyer  Erlington,  adjusting  his  glasses,  also 
read: 

"  SYLVIA  DEAR  : 

"  For  I  believe  your  eyes  will  read  this,  I  write 
to  tell  you  that  I  know  of  your  secret  engagement, 
and  approve  your  choice.  I  know,  too,  that  my 
sister  intends  to  disinherit  you.  You  will  be 
forced  to  come  here  to  win  what  you  believe  to  be 
a  pittance,  because  even  that  you  will  need. 


REVEALED  411 

"  I  married  for  love.  It  is  the  only  way.  You 
will  do  the  same,  therefore  I  have  planned  so  that 
you  and  the  man  of  your  choice,  shall  be  care- 
free. 

"  I  have  but  one  regret,  and  that  has  been  tor- 
ment. I  abhorred  these  masks  and  the  idol,  and 
made  no  secret  of  it.  Therefore  have  I  forced 
myself  to  live  with  them,  a  sort  of  penance,  be- 
cause my  aversion  to  his  treasures  grieved  my 
loved  one.  I  can  not  write  more. 

"  Good-by,  and  God  bless  you,  are  the  last 
words  of  your  Aunt  and  godmother. 

"  SYLVIA  DURANT." 

Sylvia's  eyes  were  wet,  as  she  raised  them; 
Jack's  had  a  suspicious  moisture;  while  the  old 
lawyer,  usually  so  calm,  complained  that  flickering 
candle  light  always  made  his  eyes  water. 

The  little  table  had  stood  in  a  far  corner  of 
the  room,  and  Sylvia,  espying  it,  had  gone  to  it  to 
examine  its  beauty,  thus  discovering  the  note  ad- 
dressed so  tenderly  to  herself. 

It  was  as  a  voice  from  the  dead,  and  together 
the  three  left  the  room,  feeling  as  if  old  Sylvia 
Durant  had  actually  spoken. 

June  second  dawned  fair  and  sunny,  as  if  to 
make  the  last  day  at  "  The  Three  Birches  "  as 
cheery  as  possible.  They  had  brought  only  a  few 
personal  belongings  with  them  on  that  June  day, 


412        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

a  year  ago,  and  now  these  articles  were  packed, 
and  Jack  and  Sylvia,  Aunt  Zilla  and  Laddie  walked 
decorously  down  the  path. 

Neither  looked  backward  at  the  old  house,  for 
while  a  legacy  had  been  acquired  by  the  sojourn 
there,  the  memories  connected  with  the  place  were 
too  sad  to  be  dwelt  upon.  Therefore,  with  reso- 
lute step  Jack  and  Sylvia  walked  to  the  gate,  Aunt 
Zilla  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  while  Laddie 
tugged  at  the  leash. 

John  Erlington  had  made  all  arrangements  for 
them,  and  when  they  reached  the  little  village 
chapel,  the  old  clergyman  was  there,  as  were  Ezra 
Wiley  and  his  good  wife  Temperance,  and  gentle 
Aunt  Phyllis,  all  in  their  Sunday  best. 

The  old  lawyer  had  been  a  veritable  "  best 
man."  The  simple,  yet  impressive  ceremony  was 
soon  over,  the  blessing  pronounced,  and  the 
Wileys  had  bidden  the  happy  pair  "  God-speed," 
the  little  party  was  leaving  the  church,  when  sud- 
denly from  the  underbrush  by  the  roadside  sprang 
a  grotesque  figure,  voluminously  draped  in  flow- 
ered calico. 

It  was  the  prophet. 

For  weeks  he  had  kept  silence.  Laddie  had  de- 
stroyed his  "  mantle,"  and  without  a  mantle  he 
believed  himself  unable  to  prophesy.  From  some 


REVEALED  413 

unknown  source  he  had  acquired  a  new  and  gau- 
dier drapery,  and  he  felt  that  his  power  had  been 
restored. 

Evidently  his  resplendent  apparel  had  affected 
his  style  of  harangue,  for  with  arms  uplifted,  and 
a  smile,  broad  if  not  radiant,  he  shouted:  "  Joy 
ter  ye  1  Joy  'thout  limit !  The  millennium  is  at 
hand,  an'  love  an'  peace  reigns !  " 

Jack  laughed,  and  flung  some  coins  toward  him. 
The  prophet  touched  his  hat-brim  and  knelt  to 
gather  up  the  offering. 

His  exaltation,  though  mighty,  did  not  render 
it  impossible  for  him  to  stoop  for  the  silver  that 
lay  glistening  on  the  road. 

The  train  was  at  the  station  on  scheduled  time. 
Laddie  suffered  the  indignity  of  riding  in  the  bag- 
gage-car, checked,  like  the  other  baggage.  He 
had  rode  thus  before  with  his  first  owner,  and 
fully  believed  that,  at  the  end  of  the  journey,  he 
would  trot  along  once  more  beside  Sylvia.  The 
plan,  however,  was  for  him  to  go  with  Aunt 
Zilla  to  her  little  home,  there  to  remain  until  Jack 
and  Sylvia  were  settled  in  their  own  home,  where 
he  would  be  a  welcome  member  of  the  household. 
They  were  now  bound  for  New  York.  Aunt  Zilla 
was  to  ride  but  a  short  distance  with  them,  when 
she  must  change  cars,  and  go  in  another  direction 


414        THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

to  reach  her  native  town.  Having  always  a  des- 
perate fear  that  not  a  moment  could  be  wasted 
in  leaving  a  train,  she  rushed  for  the  car  door,  be- 
fore the  brakeman  could  announce  the  station, 
and  racing  along  the  platform  to  the  baggage-car, 
demanded  the  dog. 

He  bounded  out  upon  the  platform  beside  her, 
looked  for  his  beloved  Sylvia,  made  a  break  for" 
the  already  moving  train,  only  to  be  ruthlessly 
dragged  back  by  a  wiry  hand  upon  the  leash.  He 
tried  to  follow  the  flying  train  and  Sylvia,  looking 
back,  saw  that  it  required  the  combined  efforts 
of  the  burly  station-agent  and  Aunt  Zilla  to  re- 
strain him. 

At  the  beautiful  summer  home  of  the  Ard- 
mores  a  week-end  house-party  was  in  progress. 
Whatever  Christian  virtues  or  pagan  follies  are 
attributed  to  individuals  at  other  times,  there  are 
but  three  things  that  can  awaken  their  enthusiasm 
at  a  summer  party  —  music,  dancing,  and  gossip. 
On  this  especial  evening  the  music  was  all  that 
could  be  desired,  and  nearly  all  the  guests  were 
dipping,  swirling,  swaying  to  its  fascinating  strains. 

Donald  Trefton  and  Fannie  Ardmore  were  sit- 
ting on  a  low  divan,  a  mass  of  palms  making  a 
cozy  corner  for  a  chat. 


REVEALED  415 

"  Donald,  have  you  heard  about  Mrs.  Van 
Horn?" 

"  Of  course  I  have.  Over  at  the  club  young 
Torrington  was  telling  that  a  paragraph  in  to- 
day's '  social  column  '  stated  that  Mrs.  Daphne 
Van  Horn  was  quietly  married  to  a  prominent 
club  man,  Brant  Langdon.  I  said  if  she  was,  it 
was  the  only  thing  that  she  ever  did  quietly. 
Usually  she  wishes  her  social  doings  heralded  as 
with  a  brass  band!  " 

"  But  think  what  she  says,  Donald!  She's  tell- 
ing every  one  that  Sylvia  has  so  disappointed  her, 
that  she  actually  married  Langdon  so  that  the  Van 
Horn  millions  might  not  go  to  Sylvia.  She  says 
that  Sylvia  has  chosen  love  rather  than  wealth, 
whereas  her  choice  should  have  been  money,  and 
no  love.  She  says  that  that  is  the  only  sane 
choice!  Oh,  Donald,  it  isn't!  " 

;'  Indeed  it  isn't,"  Trefton  responded,  with  feel- 
ing, and  the  tender  words  that  followed  were 
hushed  by  a  wave  of  music  that  suited  their  mood. 
It  was  the  "  Melody  of  Love." 

Just  inside  the  ball-room  Irma  Delwin  stood 
watching  the  dancers.  Beside  her,  her  step- 
mother, "  the  second  Mrs.  Delwin,"  as  she  per- 
sistently styled  herself,  was  keeping  a  watchful  eye 
busy.  With  it  she  intended  to  so  pointedly  gaze 


4i6         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

at  some  wight  who  valued  her  invitations  that 
he  would  feel  obliged  to  ask  Irma  to  dance.  She 
was  playing  the  part  of  match-maker,  not  for 
Irma's  welfare,  but  for  her  own.  She  wished  to 
be  the  only  woman  in  the  Delwin  mansion. 

A  passing  couple  mentioned  Sylvia,  whereat 
Mrs.  Delwin  remarked,  sotto  voce: 

"  Jack  Stanwood  is  a  very  fine  young  man, 
surely,  and  altogether  charming.  Really,  if  he 
had  been  more  —  well,  tactful,  I  believe  he  might 
have  married  into  a  wealthy  family." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  every  one  knows  he  is  an  aw- 
fully good  fellow,  but  I  never  could  see  why  Sylvia 
fancied  him,"  Irma  hastily  responded. 

Mrs.  Delwin  turned  sharply  about. 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Irma,"  she  said.  "  Every 
one  knows  that  you  liked  him,  and  I  myself  hap- 
pened to  be  driving  through  the  little  place  where 
you  spent  so  many  weeks  of  the  summer,  and  saw 
you  walking  on  the  links  with  him.  I  got  the  im- 
pression that  you  were  especially  interested  in  the 
conversation." 

A  vapid  youth,  whom  Mrs.  Delwin  had  been 
eyeing,  obediently  came  and  asked  Irma  for  a 
dance. 

"  I'd  be  willing  she  should  marry  that,  yes,  and 
I'd  get  Horatio  to  settle  a  hundred  thousand  upon 


REVEALED  417 

her,  if  thus  I  could  be  rid  of  her,"  she  whispered, 
the  remark  aimed  apparently  at  Irma's  plump 
back. 

The  music  ceased.  Mrs.  Delwin  glanced 
wearily  across  the  ballroom.  The  very  young 
man  was  bending  attentively  over  Irma,  who  had 
quite  forgotten  him  when  a  more  interesting  man 
claimed  her  attention. 

Mrs.  Delwin  heaved  a  mighty  sigh. 

"That's  Wainright,  Roderic  Wainright.  Well, 
I  should  raise  no  object  to  him  as  a  suitor  for  her," 
she  murmured.  "  In  truth,  I  do  not  think  there 
lives  a  man  whom  I  would  not  encourage,  if  by 
thus  doing  I  could  rid  the  home  of  Irma." 

Voices  from  behind  the  clump  of  palms  were 
now  barely  audible,  and  Mrs.  Delwin,  always 
curious,  moved  nearer. 

4  Well,  I  always  admired  Sylvia,  and  I  am  glad 
to  hear  that  her  godmother  left  so  much  to  her," 
said  a  kindly  voice,  "  and  surely  there's  not  a  finer 
young  man  anywhere  than  Jack  Stanwood." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  responded  a  second 
woman's  voice,  "  but  what  a  flutter  of  surprise 
Mrs.  Van  Horn's  marriage  created!  " 

'  Yes,  because  you  know  she  is  immensely 
wealthy,  and  she  always  said  — " 

Mrs.  Delwin,  not  in  the  lea.st  caring  what  Mrs. 


418         THE  THREE  BIRCHES 

Daphne  Van  Horn  had  said,  moved  away,  and 
soon  was  talking  with  another  matron,  who,  being 
also  a  stepmother,  could  fully  sympathize  with  her, 
or  at  least,  appear  to,  which  for  the  time,  an- 
swered the  same  purpose. 

And  while  those  who  had  always  flattered  Mrs. 
Van  Horn,  because  she  expected  it,  and  loved 
Sylvia,  because  they  could  not  help  it,  were  gossip- 
ing of  the  two  marriages,  the  wagging  tongues  in 
far  away  little  Blossomville  were  quite  as  busy, 
and  the  excitement  greater. 

Luke  Elmore  fully  recovered,  but,  with  a  re- 
serve of  manner  that  had  come  to  him,  took  no 
part  in  the  gossip,  avoiding  any  group  of  men  that 
he  saw  chatting  together. 

All  had  admired  Sylvia,  and  all  now  wished  her 
happiness. 

It  was  Josh  Lumley  who  came  forward  one 
morning  with  a  fresh  item  of  news. 

"  They're  a-goin'  ter  hev  a  fine  home  in  New 
York,  him  an'  her,  an'  somewheres  in  the  country 
they're  a-goin'  ter  build  a  newfangled  house  with 
rooms  all  on  one  floor,  an'  the  hull  thing  sounds 
fine  'cept  the  name. 

"  Them  one-story  country  houses  is  called  bung- 
holes!  Could  ye  beat  that?  Bung-hole  ter  live 
in  beats  me  all  holler!  "  he  said. 


REVEALED  419 

"  Oh,  ye  hain't  got  that  name  right,"  declared  a 
neighbor  in  disgust. 

"  I  hev,  too,"  declared  Josh,  "  an'  the  feller 
what  told  me  has  built  'em,  so  it's  likely  he  knows 
what  they  be." 

And  while  their  affairs  were  being  so  freely  dis- 
cussed, Sylvia,  beside  her  husband,  who  would  al- 
ways be  her  lover,  leaned  back  with  a  happy  sigh. 
Jack  laid  his  strong  hand  over  the  little  gloved 
one.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  shining  eyes. 

'  You'd  like  to  know  my  thoughts,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  believe  we  were  thinking  much  the  same 
thing.  It  was  flitting  through  my  mind  at  just 
that  moment,  that  we  had  passed  through  great 
trial,  and  come  forth  into  the  sunshine  of  true 
love." 

"  And  what  sunshine  could  be  more  radiant  than 
that?  "  he  responded. 


THE  END 


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NON-RENE 

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